#every time she sings hes like *heart eyes* *brain freeze* *the whole world melts away*

[lucygraysboy]

“don’t beat yourself up, baby,” he coos softly, stroking her cheek with the back of his fingertips, “it’s not always easy to speak about feelings, especially when you’re not sure how the other person will react to what you have to say.” what he’s trying to say is that he understands why she’s only just brought it up. there are quite a few things that he should confess and still hasn’t because he either doesn’t want to scare her off and put more pressure on her or lacks courage to open up and leave himself completely vulnerable. “i have this feeling that we’ll always find our way back to each other. after all, soulmates are forever.” he unzips his puffer jacket just enough to slip a hand beneath the collar of his purple sweater and pull out the locket that she mailed back to him a few weeks ago. the token of their friendship. he’s decided to wear it today for good luck. “i couldn’t live without you either, lucy gray. i mean, i lost my mind after that voice message you sent me and shaved my head when i realized you were really gone, that i’d lost you for good,” he admits with a sad, embarrassed smile, letting the locket go and restoring to rubbing his hands together as they wait for the heat to come on. he ends up pulling his phone out of his pocket and opening the maps app, searching for the nearest waffle house. 10 minutes. that’s not bad, he thinks to himself and hits go. he keeps the phone in his lap as the map loads.

“hey, don’t make me blush, pajarita.” he’d like to blame the color of his cheeks on the steady thread of warmth finally coming through the vents, but the truth is — it’s all lucy gray and the way she makes him feel loved. “buckle up, pretty princess.” musing sweetly as she scoots closer to him, he leans in and kisses the top of her head. his heart soaring sky-high. “lucy gray, you can’t be serious.” erupting into a fit of giggles as he listens to her stories about prissy math club girls and cowgirls at the fair and how she’d put them all in their place, it amuses him to the point where it’s making his lungs hurt. “i remember these situations, but i never noticed any other girls ‘cause i always only had eyes for my rainbow princess.” he’s not even exaggerating. if someone asked him to name those girls from the math club, he wouldn’t be able to. “gosh, they must have been green with jealousy when i took off my cowboy hat and put it on your head. or when we shared cotton candy at the ferris wheel. you know what else i remember from that fair? that i was trying so hard to impress you. i think i even won the shooting contest just because i really wanted you to have that giant plushie.” he also put on his best shirt and brand new boots, the ones that he was only allowed to wear on special occasions, doused himself in cologne. he was so in love with her then, and yet somehow he’s even more in love with her now. “cocoa’s my favorite, too. let’s add it to the list of things we want to get at walmart.” propane tanks for the heater and cocoa. interesting combination, he thinks with a smile, putting the car in reverse and beginning to back up. 

when lucy gray begins to sing, so softly and beautifully, like the sweetest hummingbird, billy’s heart does what it always does in such situations and comes to an abrupt stop. goosebumps appear on his forearms and despite so many layers of clothing he feels a shiver race up his spine. it takes him by surprise, both her voice and the song choice, and he finds himself focusing solely on her, icy hues gazing down at her with nothing but love and adoration. his hand hovering over the gear selector for a brief moment, suddenly uncertain how to put the car in drive. there’s not a single thought in his brain that doesn’t revolve around her, a dazzling grin stretching lazily across his lips. it’s a wonder he doesn’t burst into tears, nostalgia coiling around his heart like vines, but his eyes do become a bit glassy. emotion evident in them, written all over his face. “there’s not a star in heaven that we can’t reach,” he hums shyly, resting his cheek atop her head for only a second. the parking lot’s abandoned so he’s not really worried about some psychotic, blind moron ramming into them, but as much as he’d like to stop the time and just listen to her singing their favorite song, let the memories of their younger years engulf him whole, he has to put the car in drive and head out onto the streets. the short trip to the restaurant is an otherworldly experience, huge snowbanks lining the road, snowflakes fluttering in the air and obscuring his view and clinging to the windshield, wipers fighting a losing battle against the winds. he rarely drives like a grandma, but this time is the exception. “are you puttin’ this song on? god, you’ll make me cry,” he laughs, but it’s a possibility so he’d like to warn her beforehand.

“it’s alright, i could’ve spoken about my feelings way back then. it’s not right makin’ you play the mind guessin’ game.” lucy gray shook her head, not wanting him to feel bad for it. eyes drop on his hands going for her zipper, happily moving them away and letting him zip her jacket for her. it caused her to happily smile, enjoying the little acts of love and letting someone baby her when she was used to always being the one who babied everyone else. then as he spoke, he just made the sentiment all the more better. making her heart light up at all this reassurance about her and jesse. “aww, well that sure means a lot to me billy bonney. you’re my whole world— that’s why i couldn’t live anymore when you were gone from it.” all those tears, heartache and screaming from the horrific pain. that’s not an exaggeration, he’s been her whole world since the second they met. “yeah, you’re an angel and a sweet dinosaur.” mittened hand lifts to gently pat his cheek, holding his hand with the other. “what do you mean? every girl who dreams of a prince for their boyfriend. those prissy math club girls on the playground in third grade, i remember that’s why i took your hand to show them you were my cowboy prince. not theirs. or when we got older and those cowgirl girls at the summer fair checking you out in your cowboy hat.” she adds, still feeling that jealousy like it was fresh. the cold pricking her cheeks and making her uncomfortable when the icy wind blows in with it after they step outside into the north pole. “cocoa’s my favorite so that’s just adorable, billy.” cheeks flush at the way he talked about her eyes, letting him help her in before sitting down and pushing the console up. so she can sit on the middle seat and buckle herself in. “we’re soarinnn’, we’re flyin’.” she playfully sung at the reminder of their high school musical phase, laughing and then wrapping her arms around his waist after he got in. she rests her cheek on his shoulder admiring him with her doe eyes before pulling away to connect her phone to the car, deciding to just put the song on.

[internalsealpanic]

Death Cannot Take You

Summary: You died. You should have died, yet here you are having the audacity to still be walking. 

A/n: This is semi abandoned old guard au. I made it for 3 reasons. 1) I love Old Guard. 2) I love writing resurrection scenes cus it makes my brain calm. 3) This is a poly that I am desperate for.  

Warning: Violence, kidnapping, terrible explanations, and blatant disregard for patient care. 

The world shook violently as it staggered into view— blotchy patches of fluorescent lights and rough textures. Drowning the heavy scrape of metal is a chorus of thumping and ringing in your ears. Your hands fly to the seat in front of you, cold metal pressed against hot skin as the train rattles on. It makes your stomach lurch, dredging out its contents. 

Crumpled in your seat, you heave a ragged breath. You retch, the contents of your stomach burning in your esophagus. You screw your eyes shut unable to take another long gulp of air; it stung to breathe in the piss heavy air. You need to breathe. You need the oxygen. You need your mind in working order. Sucking in a greedy lungful, you cough it out, body rejecting it. 

There was a heat.

A pulse. 

A pistol.

A laugh. 

You can remember the wetness of saliva and blood and tears on your face as the warmth bled out of your fingertips. 

It was cold. 

It was so cold. 

Your heartbeat picks up. It’s getting harder to breathe. Your windpipe is closing. The world is getting smaller. The bones in your hands are rattling. 

A cry pries itself out of your chest, tearing its way out of your mouth. They’re not stopping. They’re still laughing. 

No. 

No. 

No. 

Please god, no. 

With another violent rattle, your consciousness slips. 

You’re cold again. Shadows grasp at the corners of your vision. The world is blotchy— a patch of tangling threads. 

The alley smells of piss and garbage. The smell is thick enough to make you choke. Your heart had stopped a while ago. No, your mind did. No, it was your heart you’re sure. No, no. It was his heart that stopped. 

It’s cold. Someone is crying out for you. It’s your father. You’re scared. Your blue eyes are fading in color. You’ve faced death before— No, not you. He has. He’s faced death always with a smile but now with his heart at a complete stand still he’s sure this is it. He’s sure this is how he dies. It isn’t on the trapeze or because of some cookie plan made by a costumed nut case. Your— his heart stops. 

He died. 

So did he. There’s another man. He’s lying on the battlefield. The sky is so pretty. You can hear canonfire. There’s another man beside him. He’s dying too. Your fair hair is matted red. Your— his flesh is reknitting itself. It’s— The whole in his— your stomach is closing the whole in it.  You’re gasping for breath. The alley doesn’t stink of piss and garbage; it smells like cotton fields and summer heat. 

He died.

You died. 

There’s a buzzing in the air— the thrum of electricity as it writhes in the wires. Bouncing your leg, you wait for the receptionist to call your name. Anxiety sings in your veins like a chorus of scraping metal. 

You don’t remember what happened last night— not clearly. 

It’s all a melting pot of images and voices and touches. 

You cup your hand over your mouth, the stomach acid burning its way up your esophagus. Your tongue is tacky with dried saliva and the lingering taste of copper. They’re laughing. They’re all still laughing. The ringing in your ears won’t stop. 

You fold. Legs curl up into your chest as you dip your head under. Eyes sliding shut, you let the darkness pool in your mind. The vague sounds in the emergency room coalescing into a discordant symphony. You let yourself dream again. 

You lift your head up slowly, colors bleeding into view. The words don’t make sense. 

“Kid, are you ok?” 

You regard the large man with the open—mouthed confusion of a fish. He’s handsome in a rough sort of way— grisled with a full beard, cropped hair, and gunmetal blue eyes— eye. He’s got an eye patch. You swallow. Your lungs inflate as they inhale the sterile scent of the room. The smell of hand sanitizer is too thick. He’s tall. You crane your neck to look up at him. It hurts. He must easily be 6’3”, maybe even taller. His chest is broad and through the shirt, he’s wearing you can see the expanse of taut well—defined muscles. His lips are curved up at one side in a lopsided smirk. Your head is pounding. You shut your eyes, vigorously nodding your head. You know what he’s staring at. You know what his eyes— eye— are trained on. 

You… You haven't changed. The crisp white shirt you’d worn to your job is dark and wrinkly with dried blood.  You hate it. You hate how uncharacteristically messy you look; it makes you feel off—model, like something that is a cluttered version of you.  

You curl up again. This time the ringing in your ears blocks out everything else.  Your head dips back into the dark. It’s cold and stuffy and your ears were ringing when they—

Your eyes fly open and there’s a figure in front of you. You squint. The figure is smaller, less broad; a nursing assistant with kind eyes stands over you with a clipboard. You breathe. You turn your head to the man from before. He’s standing next to a man— younger, shorter. He looks dwarfed next to the other man but he’s average height and it would be funny if you had the energy. You’re far enough away that you can’t be sure of his features but it’s not hard to tell that he’s pretty.  He’s got rich brown skin, black hair, and a gymnast’s poise. He’s familiar. Both of them are. They’re talking to the police. You freeze.  

Are they here for you? Who are they?

“I need you to follow me back into the ER,” she says gently, grip firmly grasping your shoulder. You run your hand through your matted hair. Your hand comes back slick and sticky with sweat and dried blood. The oxygen in your lungs stutters. You feel another squeeze on your shoulder.  You’re back. You’re not whole but you’re back. 

“I’m sorry,” you croak, legs wobbling beneath you as you stand. 

You follow her. It’s faint but you can feel someone follow you as you disappear into the hall with her. 

The walk to the hall was peaceful. It was steadying. It’s the talk with the doctor that’s putting you on edge.  He’s tapping his pen on the clipboard. Your mind writhes with every tap. Sighing, you rub your eyes and try to push the sensations away. “I— I’m so sorry. I’m just. It’s my mind. I just can’t—” you breathe “—I can talk. I’m sorry.” You wave vaguely. 

“Alright tell me what happened.”

You swallow. Your trachea still feels splintered. “I—” breathe “—I was cornered. In an alley. Behind a butcher shop. I was trying to take a short cut—” he taps a pen against the board "— I was attacked." You finish, fingers tracing up the length of your throat. Attacked was too quick a word. Attacked was the kind of word you used for the quick in and out of a knife— the split second bite of a bullet.  You weren’t attacked. You were— what happened to you felt like an eternity. 

Shuffling, he looks you over. There's a prickle in the back of your neck. There's someone watching you. Your eyes flick. There's the young man. His eyes are a warm tropical blue. He waves at you. He looks uneasy. The man from before is trying not to pay attention.  Your legs swing, almost clipping the doctor's clipboard. The doctor frowns at you but you shrug. 

"You don't seem to have been injured." 

You blink. "That's not possible," you say, hands shaking,"they had me for hours." No that wasn't true. At most they had you for an hour or maybe two but that didn’t matter not at the bite of the bullet, not at the slice of flesh, not at the impact of the bat. 

"I need you to breathe," the doctor instructs, placing a hand on your back; it tenses. You go rigid. He pulls back muttering about x—rays and brain scans. 

Catching his lab coat in a death grip, you beg: "Please don't leave me." 

"Ma'am, you're perfectly safe here." 

They will find you. 

He thinks you're hysterical. You know that from the way he looks at you, like a caged animal. "We have security personnel if need be," he assures, none—too—gently prying his coat from your grip. "We'll close the curtain if that makes you feel safe and there are hospital gowns in the closet if you'd like to change." 

You nod quietly. 

You slowly peel off your shirt. The cool air stings. You suck in a breath. You think of the dream you had. That man's heart stopping. The press of lips. The bite of metal against skin. You look down at your skin— no bruises, no cuts, nothing. 

You're scared. 

You know these memories aren't fully yours. 

You hear the door slide open. Your knee jerk reaction is to be embarrassed. You're in your underwear. Pulling on a gown, you're ready to snarl at the intruder. Your heart stops. It's the man from before. 

"Did they take a blood sample from you yet?" He asks, closing the curtain behind him. 

His gaze is unyielding as he makes slow predatory strides towards you. You flatten yourself against the wall. "No— I— what?" 

"Good." 

"What—" There's a sharp pain in the side of your head. There's blood trickling down the side of your  head. Your vision is fading.

Falling forward, you grasp your blood tacky hands at his shirt.  You feel weightless. You're on his shoulder. 

"Who are you?" 

"You'll find out." 

The desert sand billows as a gust of wind blows through the dunes. You’re searching for someone. Your friend. His friend not yours. He’s somewhere. He’s being held prisoner. You’ve kept him waiting long enough. 

 You turn your head and the scene shifts. 

There’s a sky full of lights above you, glittering. You can’t tell if they’re man made or not. You reach out to them. Your hands aren’t yours. You squint. Your hands are dark and calloused— covered in sawdust. There’s a terrible shape in your stomach. You’re scared but that’s not new. There’s always a little fear when you go on the trapeze. 

You shift under the cover, limbs wrapped around a pillow.  The smell of freshly roasted coffee is heavy in the air. You burrow your face more into the pillow. Mark can wake you up—

"And you thought kidnapping her was the solution?!" 

You wince at the tone. Shuffling your limbs quitely out of the covers, you press yourself to the wall, peaking over the corner just a fraction— just enough to see two men arguing. The taller man with white hair facing the hall opening into the sleeping area. 

“It was.”

“Slade, you can’t just go kidnapping people!” the younger man shouts, his face red while his arms waved all over the place. Slade, you assumed,  stood impassively, but his arms were now crossed over his chest in a defensive manner. 

“I just did.”

The younger man runs his hand over his face and through his hair, ruffling it in frustration. “She’s going to be terrified when she wakes up.”

You are. Your eyes flick to the window. You could escape.  You're in a motel room you realize. If they’re distracted enough, you could make it out. 

“Well, Kid, it looks like you’re right.”

“Of course, I am—”

You look up. The two men are looking in your direction. Should you go back to the bed and pretend to be asleep? Is there any point? Just make a run for it. 

You sprint only to hit what feels like a brick wall. You stagger back but what feels like a metal band wraps around your waist.  The next thing you know is that you feel weightless. 

“Slade, put her down! You’re going to give her a heart attack.”

“Relax, kid, it’s not like it’s gonna kill her.” Your body is dropped unceremoniously on the bed. You bounce a couple of times before your body settles against the soft sheets. Scrambling back against the headboard, you look between the two men trying to  decide what to do. You place a pillow in front of you as a shield. The pounding of your heart is loud in your ears that you don’t think you’ll be able to hear anything that comes out of your mouth. 

“I’m broke,” you finally manage. You turn to the younger man. “My roommate is broke too.” He gives you a confused furrow in his brow. “We can’t afford ransom. You won’t get anything, so please just… just let me go. I won’t tell the police. I promise.” Folding your legs behind the pillow, you press yourself into the headboard further.  The young man sighs and slumps. “We don’t want money.” You stiffen, keenly aware that save for the flimsy protection of the hospital gown, you’re only in your underwear. He seems to realize what you’d concluded. 

 Slade snorts. “Way to go, kid.”

“Yeah, thanks for the help, asshole.”

“I have done nothing wrong.”

“Ah, yes. Aside from kidnaping her you mean,” he snarls. You swallow loudly, trying to keep the bile down. The younger man turns to you, the impressive glare he was sporting slides way too easily into concern. His body rolls into a different shape; it’s the kind of posture you’ve used when comforting your younger sibling.  He lowers himself on the bed slowly. He reaches out a hand. Carefully, he says “We won’t hurt you.”

And you want to believe him. You desperately want to believe him. 

“Real convincing, Grayson.” Slade sneers as he watches your recoil from Grayson’s outstretched hand. Grayson levels another glare at Slade who simply huffs and shrugs. 

“I haven’t done anything to you. Please let me go.” You croak. 

Grayson looks at you helplessly. “(Y/n)... We can’t...”

“You died last night.” Slade says. Nothing in his tone suggests a question. It’s just a statement. No room for doubt. 

You blink, nose scrunching. “I— I was mugged.” You cover your face with your hands. You’re pretty positive that you’d remember being murdered and you say as much. You got cornered by three to four gang members and they mugged you. That was it. 

Your stomach rebels at the thought. 

Grayson gives you that pitying look again. He pries your hands from your face, blue eyes bearing down at you with so much concern. His touch is so gentle that you almost cry. “Sweetheart, think about it.”

You shake your head trying to pull your hand away from him. He doesn’t let you. Your head is throbbing. You’re scared and confused and you’re starting to feel anger prickle under your skin.  “I think I would know if I died, asshole,” you snarl and the shift in tone catches them both off guard. 

Slade sighs. There’s a flash of metal and a gunshot. The pain radiates from the middle of your stomach; it’s sharp. Some small, shrill sound escapes you.  You’re gasping as you look at him again. He’s looking at a watch. It looks expensive. It’s funny how even  during death your mind finds a way to procrastinate. 

“It’s taking a little while. Of all the inconveniences, why is it so slow the first few times?”Slade mutters in a voice that would sound right at home in a self checkout line. His shoe is tapping against the rug. You wonder if that’s expensive too. 

“Why would you shoot her?” Grayson demands, shooting up from his spot on the bed. The loss of weight jostles the bed. You wince. 

You look down. Something strange is happening. Your flesh like cloth is reknitting, leaving the seamless expanse of your stomach. 

You look back up, eyes blown wide and frantic. You pat your stomach, hand coming away with a thin film of blood but the strange tingling you get when you’re expecting to feel something but you don’t. The bullet hole wasn’t there. It just wasn’t. 

A sprawl of frantic horror lives down the line of your sternum. It was the kind of amorphous energy you get when something doesn’t make sense, when something just shouldn’t have happened— a sort of odd dislocation in the universe. 

Grayson holds his hands up in a placating manner as he sits back down on the bed. He’s careful not to jostle you but you barely notice.  You think his hands look familiar.  Your— his calloused hands reach out to you. “You need to trust us.”

“You. Just. Shot. Me.”

“Correction, he shot you.”

Slade rolls his eye. “Ah yes, kid, very helpful.” 

“It’s an important distinction.”

“Fine!” You point to Slade. “You shot me.” You point to Grayson. “You. Let. Him.”

“Sweetheart, I appreciate that you think I have any control over that brute,” Grayson says, pointing his thumb over his shoulder, “but I have about as much control over that brute as I do over a storm. ”

Unamused, you throw a pillow at Grayson hard enough that he almost topples over the edge. You grab another pillow and Grayson raises the pillow you threw at him in defense. You can see the smile in his eyes; it makes the acid behind your teeth boil. All embarrassment and horror bleed out to give way to anger as you throw the pillow at him with the same ferocity as before. Slade snatches the pillow midair saving Grayson from having to deflect it. Grayson gives him a smile that looks like an insincere apology. Slade, like you, seems unconvinced and pushes your discarded pillow into Grayson’s fine—boned face. It does nothing to wipe the grin off his face but you feel a little better knowing you’re not the only one who has to endure him. 

You fight the urge to laugh but  not too hard. The chords of your muscles come loose and for the first time in what feels like an age, you feel tired. “I’m dead. I died. Then you shot me… And then you shot me. WHAT THE HELL?” You say, the accusation directionless. You were supposed to die on a smoking heap of trash, gutted and pathetic. Hands falling limply to your sides, you let your mind go through that a dozen times because, well, how does one process their own death and undeath? You shouldn't still be here. 

"What’s happening to me?" 

"She's acting far more reasonable than you did." Slade teases. 

Grayson scowls at him, slapping him with the pillow. Slade just kind of grunts clearly less hurt than annoyed. Considering the solid wall of muscle the man is sporting, you wouldn’t be surprised if it would take nothing short of a brick to hurt him. "YOU SHOT ME IN THE HEAD THEN SHOT ME THROUGH THE STOMACH." 

“I only shot you in the stomach because the bullet through your head didn’t get through your thick skull.”

You’re one missed heartbeat away from laughing. Your brows shoot up, limp limbs coming back to life as you curl in on yourself again. What have you gotten yourself into?

"Oh my god, I mean— Shit!" Slade snorts as Grayson flails. Grayson puts his hand in his face, groaning. “Sorry about that… Slade is terrible at explanations.”

Slade makes a noise in the back of his throat. It sounds like a laugh and twitch of his lip would suggest so but you're still second guessing yourself. "You're one to talk Mr. We Won't Hurt You." The air fills with Slade's amusement as Grayson’s cheeks flush. It's funny how easily pretty shifts to adorable. 

You sigh raking your hand through your hair. It's been an exceptionally long day. "What’s happening to me?" You whine mostly to yourself. "I'm not a meta. I think I would know if I was something like that… Right?" You look up at Grayson who just gives you a complicated expression. "You know what's going on don't you?" You say, crawling closer to Grayson. He shifts a bit, keeping his eyes straight. Grayson blinks and runs his hand through his hair, collecting his scattered thoughts. He leans back, putting a bit of space between you as he speaks. "We got off on the wrong foot," he says extending a hand to you, "the name's Dick—”

“Are you sure?” and Slade laughs at your question. Grayson— Dick (is that really his name?) looks tired like he’s heard this question a million times. “Yes, I’m sure about my name.” You feel a little bad but not enough to actually say anything that even comes close to an apology. “Anyway,” Dick (?) continues,”the grumpy old man over there is Slade. We’re sort of in the same boat as you.”

The last line makes you pause. You think back to your dreams, the quick flashes of sensations. Oh. That was— Oh. Your stomach feels like lead. You watched them— Oh. 

“I’m sorry.” you say, at a loss of what else to say. Death was an intimate thing. You guessed that only the dead or the previously dead would know that. You fold your hands on your lap as you sit back on your legs, a primm gesture that made you feel solid and a bit more like yourself than you had in hours. 

Dick’s warm blue eyes are wide. He goes still for a moment taking in what you’d just said. His head shakes and he smiles at you, an expression that is weightless. It made you think of the trapeze. “It’s ok,” he assures you, warm hand on yours, “it’s not your fault… Anyway!” You use the very sarcastic brows you’ve been given to convey your concern about the neck snapping shift in tone. Dick looks at you sheepish, hand rubbing the back of his neck before deciding to soldier on.  “We don’t know why but some individuals are brought back to life and are made immortal. We’ve— I’ve got a few working theories but—”

“Immortal.” You repeat, trying to make the concept make sense. 

“We, now including you, don’t die, kid.” Slade deadpans. 

“Thanks. I’ve read a dictionary.” You say, eyes flicking to your very much intact stomach. Dick laughs, the sound high and breezy. He tries to stifle it but even the hand cupped over his mouth couldn’t contain the sound. Slade’s long leg stretches to give Dick a not so light kick. This does nothing but increase the volume of his laughter.  You look back up at them. “So, what does my latest existential crisis have to do with either of you?”

“Well for one,” Slade says, standing up, “we can’t have you running around with a millenia old secret without even attempting to teach you how to disappear first.” This is what gets your stomach to rebel. Bile is climbing up your throat. Dick, quick as a whip, holds a trash can out for you. You put your hand in front of you. You hold out your hand to stop him, not even sure if you had anything in your stomach aside from acid. 

You had just started getting your life back together and then this. Shaking your head, you try to break the thought down into more manageable pieces before swallowing it. “Ok. ok. That makes sense. I guess.”

Dick pulls back still looking concerned. “You are taking this alarmingly well.”

You stare at him. Your stomach rolls again. "Do I have a choice?" You ask from behind your hand. 

Slade huffs, "she's right, kid."

"Is he just gonna keep calling us kid or..." 

"Considering he's got 700 years on the both of us?" Dick laughs like he didn't just hit you with a ton of bricks.

"Ah, so he's a museum piece. Got it." You deadpan and you're rewarded with another roll of laughter from Dick. Slade grunts but doesn't protest much more than that. You turn your focus to Dick. "So how old are you?"

"A lady never tells," Dick says, crows feet wrinkling at the corners of his eyes. You blow air between your lips. "Lemme guess, you're like 2000 years old."

Dick makes a noise; it sounds offended. You don't much care, finally feeling a smile creeping on to your face. It doesn't hurt when you do not like everything else right now. That fact would be almost uncomfortable if you weren't so weary.

Folding your knees against your chest, you squish your face against your arms. "No seriously, old man. How old are you?"

"You're persistent." Dick hums.

"I want to know if I can cite you for my thesis on ancient greek culture."

Dick shakes his head. "You're better off citing him."

"Sadly, he's right Grayson is just a mere 27 years old."

You blink. He's— He's around your age. You breathe. "Ok so I'm not alone. Great."

"You're not," Slade says, "he was much harder to deal with."

"Do I have to keep mentioning that you shot me twice?" Dick asks crossing his arm sover his chest.

"Are you ever going to stop bringing it up?"

"When it stops working."

"It ever started."

From their banter, they're familiar with each other. The tiredness from before ebbs back in. You feel alone. Out of habit, you bury your head against your knees.  There is something comforting about the stillness.

A warm hand settles on your shoulder. You jolt up, knocking the back of your skull against the headboard. It makes a loud thunk against the wall. Dick winces, pulling his hand away from you. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine." You lied  still seeing stars.

 They look unconvinced. You don't quite care. "You look like you need a good meal."

"Or a hot shower," Slade suggests. 

You think it over, hand on your stomach brain still looking for the bullet wound. Eyes flicking between both, you lick your lips before saying: "I'll take you up on that shower." Your eyes drift back down to your arms, concentrating on the small details, the imperfections you've gathered through the years. The thought that you won't be able to add more doesn't really register like it should.

Dick nods getting up to grab something.  "I might need a couple of minutes in there," you say absently. 

"Take all the time you need." Dick says handing you a towel and a fresh shirt. You accept them with a small nod, carefully peeling yourself away from the bed.  Your eyes go into a tunnel vision, only focused on the door to the shower. 

You stop, a hand gripping your wrist. The pressure is solid and reassuring. You turn back to see Dick, biting his cheek."It'll get better I promise."

You give Dick a crooked smile. "I'll probably feel a lot better when I'm not covered in blood."

"That always helps," Slade says flatly. 

"You'd know."

"You really wanna scare her more right now?"

"It's just way too easy with you around."

"Please save the other world shattering revelations after my shower," You whine pulling the towel to your chest. 

"Can't promise that." Slade says with a rumble that just radiates bastard. 

You blow out a breath, raising a middle finger  over your shoulder. It was a rude gesture you'd never normally even consider but it felt appropriate at this moment.

"Hope you don't mind pizza." Dick says already dialing the number.

You stop leaning against the door, face squished against the frame. "What kind?"

"Hnnnnn... I figure you would like ham and mushrooms." 

With amusement, you note how Slade blanches quietly behind Dick. You quietly question both of their maturities. "how'd you figure oh wise ancient one?"

"Please don't ask him that."

"Why not? I'm curious to see how his mind works."

"You're going to regret that."

You cock your brow as Dick draws himself up. He reminds you of a pitcher winding up. "Because I'm a fun—guy, get it?"

Slade groans, hand on his face and for once he looks like an old man not like a terrifying wall of intimidation. 

"You're right. I do regret it," you say, stifling a laugh,"anyway, if you'll excuse me, the shower is calling my name. You two love birds have fun."

Slade sits beside Dick, an arm wrapping around his waist. "You heard the lady. She told us to have fun," Slade rumbles into Dick's ear only loud enough for you to hear. You flush. Realization hitting you like a truck. The color of Dick's face mimicking yours as he shoves Slade's face away. That warm shower will now be a cold one, you think as you awkwardly shuffle into the bathroom.

Instead of a shower, you elected for a nice soak. You're too weary and rung out and you hadn't seen a decent bath tub in a few years so you took the chance. It's not like an infection from the tub could kill you, right? 

You step out of the bathroom feeling refreshed if not a bit cold from your shirt. Dick's shirt was big but it stopped shy of your thighs. You couldn't really complain. You were just happy to get out of the blood soaked clothes.

You pad your way into the room and eyes are instantly on you. Slade quite blatantly stares at the curve of your ass as it peaks out from under your shirt. You think of scolding him but decide to leave that up to Dick who… is also staring at you… in the same area. He has the decency to look embarrassed when you catch him. Clearing his throat, Dick answers the knock on the door which just adds another set of eyes on you.

A poor pimple faced kid stands frozen at the door, slack jawed. His eyes dart around the room, frantically looking for a camera or something. You sigh. You too could see how this could be a lazy set up to a porn. You’re slightly flattered at the idea that you could be astronomically hot enough to be in a porn with either of these two but you’re more worried about the kid having to deal with a boner while he delivers pizzas. Dick, incredibly oblivious to the problem, seems to take his time looking for his wallet. 

Slade, not oblivious to the problem, makes his way to the poor kid, looking as imposing as possible as he hands the kid a fifty. Whatever arousal the kid felt at the moment floods out of him along with any color in his face. 

You snort plopping on to the bed and crossing your leg over the other and you watch as the men’s eyes widen as they trace the expanse of skin. This is the closest you will ever be to a bond girl.

Slade slams the door in the kids face, not even bothering with the change. Dick rolls his eyes with a crooked smile playing on his lips. “She hasn’t been with us for a day and you’re already acting possessive,” Dick laughs, patting Slade’s chest as he walks past. 

Dick plops on the bed next to you. You press your cheek into his shoulder as he opens the box. The smell of greasy cheese and canned vegetables floods your nostrils in a concert of sweet, unhealthy goodness. Your stomach rumbles and your hand darts down to get a piece. Your hand jerks back as your skin tingles from the heat. 

“Sorry, love, you can still feel pain.” Dick says, puckering his face as he blows the rising steam away. As if to be contrary, Slade grabs the largest slice and immediately takes a bite. You turn to Dick, raising a brow to ask. “Him? He’s just a weirdo.” Dick answers, grabbing his own slice.  You roll your eyes grabbing your own slice. 

Dick’s trying hard not to stare at your legs but ends up staring at your lips instead.  “Do you have any spare pants?” You ask around a mouthful of pizza. 

“I’ll get it,” Slade says before Dick can even stumble out a response, “clearly wonder boy hadn’t thought this through.” 

You hum around another mouthful in agreement and Dick just looks at you betrayed. You uncross and recross your legs to prove your point. 

Shifting away from Dick and swallowing the last bit of your pizza, you take the pants Slade offers you and you’re not at all surprised that it doesn’t fit right. “Any chance I can go back to my apartment? Even just for clothes?”   

“Sadly no.”

“Should I ask?”

“Do you really feel like talking to cops right now, kid?”

“Yanno, you’re gonna have to distinguish between us at some point,” Dick huffs, opening a can of soda,”and she’s right we do need to get her new clothes.” He hands you a can. Not feeling parched, you just roll it in your palm feeling the need to indulge in the feeling on cool metal. You catch yourself before you tuck your legs against your chest again. 

“I don’t see why you’re so hell bent on this, kid 1. You clearly like seeing her in your clothes.” Slade says, flatly the way you’d read out the summary of a particularly boring movie summary, probably based on a Nicholas Sparks novel. 

“You think adding a number is enough effort to distinguish us?” Dick sneers, trying to distract from the flush of his cheeks. 

“Would you prefer I call you ‘Sport’?”

“Dick, for both of our sake’s please accept being called Sport.”

“No!”

“How about ‘Chum’?”

Dick’s nose wrinkles at the name. You’re not sure if it’s the name itself, the way it rolls off of Slade’s tongue, or something to do with your dream.  You don’t know Dick well enough to discern. 

“Please don’t.” Dick tries politely and there’s a tinge of sadness in his tone. Slade seems to back off, easing into his chair. 

You open your mouth wanting to pry but instead of asking the question on the tip of your tongue, you settle for asking for another slice. The air is full of questions but you’re not really sure which one to pluck out. Then again, you’ve got time. And really? Right now, that’s all you have.

Before you can dwell too much on that thought, Slade turns the TV on to drown out whatever Dick was saying. You’d tuned him out a little bit ago. It wasn’t really a matter of choice; it was more a matter of your brain going on power saving mode. 

You blink sleepily, the voice of the anchor falling into a low hum in your mind. You’re pretty sure your name blips in between the static of words. There’s a dull recognition in the words ‘kidnapping’ and ‘suspects’ but it all seems so distant at the moment. No reaction registers upon realizing that they were probably talking about your kidnapping and really could anyone blame you when some cosmic fuckery just occurred and now your life has been turned on its head? ____________________________________________________________ Thanks for reading!

[cherry-moonlight]

Life Could Be A Dream - Chapter Four

{NOS4A2 - Charlie Manx x Reader}

{A/N} He’s hereeeeeeeeeeeeee! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter and what's to come! Thank you for being so supportive <3

Warnings: A bout of depressive thoughts.

Chapter Four - Christmasland

“Did they ask for me?” Vic’s voice was low and rough as I put the phone back in its place.

If looks could kill, I might’ve died right there in my shoes. Still, I nodded reluctantly. Before I had time speak again, she spun around on her heel and stormed out, grabbing her helmet once more.

“Wayne?” She called out.

Silence.

“Wayne!” She shouted then, fear gripping the tone of her voice in a way that almost frightened me.

I watched as Lou followed her out, looking exasperated the moment she’d gotten on her bike in a huff. He threw his hands up in the air and she was gone.

Approaching him carefully, I kept a polite enough distance. Having no idea as to what was going on, I tried not to make anything worse. Was a random phone call really that menacing? Pushing away the fact that the cord was still dangling from the pole, usually rendering any other phone useless, was proving to be harder than I expected.

“Where’s she going?” I asked gently.

He took a moment to respond, his gaze seemingly stuck down the road as he stared after her, but Victoria wasn’t anywhere in sight anymore. His face was clearly pained when he finally turned to face me.

“She just.. went to go look for Wayne,” he sighed, padding to the shop again and grabbing his keys off of a caddy on the wall. “I’ll be back.”

And with that, he was gone, too. I guessed they’d trusted me enough to leave me alone with the shop, even if it was supposed to be closed a few moments ago. Sitting alone, it didn’t take long before I felt absolutely gutted that Wayne was missing and I hadn’t even noticed that he wandered off. A strong urge to help them in their search for him plagued me. They’d been so kind and welcoming to me, and I owed it to them.

The garage door closed with a bang when I locked it. I had no car or really any means of transportation, but I noticed keys to a truck that had been dangling on the wall as well. While I had no idea who they belonged to, I didn’t care. Before I locked the shop up, I’d swiped them from their spot. The air was crisp as I ran over to the vehicle, helping myself and hoping the owner would never figure out I used it.

Not having a car had been the bane of my existence as a teenager. I couldn’t go anywhere or do anything. The only reason I was even able to get my license was because my mother wanted me to run errands for her. The engine roared to a start and the radio kicked on, the haunting song from the shop and my dream suddenly playing through it. This struck a slight pang of uneasiness within me. The song sounded just as sorrowful as it had in my dream. With a hard swallow, I reached for the knob and pushed the power button carelessly as I began to drive off the lot.

The song still played.

I pushed again, then again and again.

The radio was off, but the song still played. I could’ve killed the engine in the middle of the road, just to be sure, but I decided against it.

“Must be broken..” I tried to convince myself aloud instead, as though it might go away if it heard me.

Something was clearly wrong with me, I thought.

Hearing songs that don’t exist when no one else could hear them.. Lovely. I’d always heard trauma did strange things to the brain. Maybe it was something like th—

It was then that something large behind the treeline beside me caught my eye. I wasn’t too far from Carmody’s yet, making me even more compelled to examine it.

From what I could see it was large and wooden and resembled something of a tunnel or a bridge. There was no peeling my thoughts from the sight, forcing me to keep glancing over at it. I couldn’t not investigate what I was seeing, and a part of me wondered if it was truly there thanks to the incidents with the ghostly song I kept having.

But I couldn’t resist. I pulled over immediately and stared at it from the car, blinking a few times just to be sure.

It was definitely there..

Maybe I’d just overlooked it like I had overlooked Carmody’s all of this time.

Shrugging into the jacket I wore, I hopped out of the truck and closed the door before standing still for a moment-- just listening.

Nope. No song.

But it had already gotten stuck in my head.

Not wanting to work on that crisis before figuring out what was hiding behind the trees, I decided there was no harm in humming it to myself. The sensation of mystery ran thick while I made my way down into the wooded area, pushing my way through dry branches and prickly pine needles. The air grew even chillier and the gray sky turned just a bit darker the further I went, making me wonder if going into the woods was a good idea at all. But I owed it to Vic and Lou to help them look for their son, who had been nothing but sweet to me since I’d met him.

“Wayne…!” I called, though not as loudly as I probably should have as I approached the large structure.

My brow knit together. That tunnel was not there before, of that I was certain. It seemed to lead to nowhere, which was intriguing and eerie at the same time. The lyricless song in my head seemed to swell with passion, making me sing along to the notes that hung in the air just like it had in my dream.

My dream.

Maybe the tunnel had something to do with the dream I had, I thought, walking towards the entrance. My feet continued to carry me forward, still not close enough to see inside. It almost seemed as though no matter how far I walked, I could never get close enough to even begin to close the distance. Snow began to fall from the sky then, something the weather forecast hadn’t called for at all in the week, and as I continued on, the colorless flurry grew heavier and heavier— the melody in my head and on my lips almost taking the place of any other noise I might’ve heard.

“Wayne?” I cried out in between singing, huddling into myself from what was turning into bitter coldness.

I ducked as a few black bats that stood out against the vastness of white flew out from the slowly disappearing structure and towards me. The snow had picked up so much I wasn’t sure I would even be able to get close enough to it to take cover. The sudden whiteout was disorienting, not only because of the blankets of snow clouding my vision, but because it just didn’t feel possible to happen all at once. It came out of thin air, making me feel as though I were detached from reality.

My better judgement told me I had to get back to the truck as I was surely losing sight of my surroundings with every moment passed. I knew I hadn’t wandered far, yet I felt as though I were isolated from everyone and everything I’d ever known in the place I stood, the feeling hanging heavily around me, pulling me down until it was a chore just to breathe.

The air whipped around my trembling frame, stinging my cheeks and chilling my bones as I continued my singing, trying to keep myself from a full blown panic attack. Singing had always soothed me. Even though my voice was weak from competing with the sound and force of the wind, it kept me from losing my mind despite the fear that filled my heart and seeped into every fiber of my being.

The song continued on strong through what felt like chaos surrounding me, causing me to feel it on a level much deeper than before. A stark realization settled in that I was truly alone in the world, and it was being shown all around me in some kind of sick, wintery metaphor. I couldn’t carry on anymore. I felt my body go limp and my mind go blank, the lack of control in my life revealing itself to me. My voice fell silent as I stopped singing and fell forward into the freezing abyss that consumed me, a soft sob escaping my cherry red lips as I came to terms with my situation more than I ever thought I would.

My heart screamed, pumping beat after beat with nothing but pain.

My blood boiled, burning my insides through the numbing cold.

All I’d ever wanted was to be loved.

Appreciated.

All I’d ever wanted my whole life was to be cared about.

Why wasn’t I deserving of that?

And it was in that moment of silence that everything else in the world came to an unforeseen halt as well.

A beat passed, maybe two, and I opened my eyes from being squeezed shut in anger and hurt. Mascara-filled tears left streaks down my cheeks as I kept my gaze down at the shining white ground, tiny black droplets melting the patches of snow beneath my face where each drop fell like blood. It was considerably darker than it had been before the storm, but the light was different, too. Almost scared to lift my head, my eyes trailed from their spot on the ground cautiously, my {H/C} hair falling in front of my face.

The sudden silence was utterly deafening as I tried to listen for any sign of life. No sounds of nature; no song. But it was then that I noticed each and every delicate snowflake hanging in its place in the air like crystal droplets hanging from a chandelier. It was as though time and space had stopped around me.

Am I dead?

My eyes widened in astonishment, taking in my new environment as I scanned the small area I found myself in.

Where am I?

I exhaled, a small white cloud hanging off my lips. I’d been holding my breath without my knowing. All around me were tall walls of white and blue ice, casting glacial shadows across what looked like hallways within their confines. The snowflakes that hung around me began to disappear like fireflies into the night while I stumbled to my feet again.

Ice.

It was all ice surrounding me, and the song that haunted me everywhere I went had not returned. Shuddering gently, the cold touched me here, but it didn’t chill me the way it had in the woods. In fact, despite the snow, there was a sense of warmth that radiated from every corner. I didn’t feel as hopeless and alone as I had on the ground just minutes before, the grave shift in emotions so quickly almost throwing me into a mild form of shock as I found my bearings again.

The familiarity of the place hit me like a ton of bricks as I began to walk. It was like my feet knew exactly where to take me; running my fingers along the ice that stood tall enough to keep anything that might’ve come across the place out — or in. Parts of the enclosure arched over me with large icicles that made everything feel like a dreamscape; the cold of the crystalline walls on my sensitive fingertips began to hurt. But in the moment, there was no care to be had about the pain.

The grin that tugged slowly at my snow kissed lips couldn’t be helped as I began to run, letting my heart carry me through what I quickly remembered to be a maze. Sure, I couldn’t remember how I knew, but somehow, I knew exactly where I was going. Something in my mind told me I was going to be the victor if I reached the entrance, keeping my focus on nothing but chasing my own intuition through the labyrinth’s twisting and turning glacial halls.

From my head to my toes I was awash with giddiness, a giggle escaping from my lips at every new turn, a childlike wonderment becoming me, replacing the sorrow that I was sure wouldn’t leave me alone only moments before. The snow kicked up around my feet, and I could see the light in the distance, indicating the entrance I was so after. Shifting into a sprint, it was as though I knew I had something to get to at the end, but couldn’t place exactly what.

But when I finally reached my destination, I was met with a world of fragmented memories that came flooding into my mind all at once, the familiarity delving deeper than just a passing wonder. I could’ve sworn there was an impact on me physically as I caught myself, leaning back against the large wall that made up the entrance with strength I didn’t know I would need to keep myself up as I sorted through my thoughts.

Sprawled out before my curious eyes was the most wondrous thing I’d ever seen. Christmas trees and houses that looked like life sized gingerbread cottages. Blinking lights were everywhere, complete with a large Ferris Wheel and a rollercoaster that wound its way around the entire parameter. There wasn’t a patch of ground that snow didn’t cover, and I could hear laughter in the distance. My heart suddenly ached with fervor, and I clutched at my chest as though that might stop the gnawing that radiated deeper than I would’ve liked. I was thrilled and pained all at the same time. But how could I feel as though I so deeply missed something I couldn’t even remember properly?

There was a certain romance to everything I set my eyes on as it shined in the lights, casting technicolor shadows over my face. I didn’t want to look away, in fact, I was sure I couldn’t as I let myself linger on the sights before me. I wanted to explore, to find myself in every nook and cranny this place of wonder offered.

Emotions began to overwhelm me as I finally came to the conclusion that I’d been here before long ago. It wasn’t something I’d simply made up or only dreamt about. The lights in my dream, they were leading to this. My brow furrowed as I tried to remember; tried to search the depths of my mind for any memory that would give me more than just a fuzzy clue.

My feet pounded against the ground as I ran again.

I ran and ran and ran; through the carnival games and rides that offered more flashes of hazy memories and past the houses that did just the same. When I reached the edge of what looked like a Christmassy plaza, I saw two people standing across from each other, both in defensive stances as though they were in the middle of an intense row. As I peered in for a closer look, I gasped.

What was Vic doing here?

She was in a stand-off with a tall man in a navy blue jacket and a deep red cravat. His dark brown hair matched the darkness of his trousers and shoes, and I noticed all too quickly that he had a face no one should ever forget.

When my eyes set on him, I was terribly wounded that I had forgotten his face at all when I immediately recognized him-- even if I couldn’t remember how, exactly.

Charlie Manx.

Father Christmas.

Whatever anyone called him, that was who my entire being was being pulled towards through the maze and down the snowy pathways. I knew it when my gaze found him, the ache in my chest dulling, but not completely gone.

But why? Who is he to me? There were more questions than I had words.

No one noticed my appearance as I made my way towards them with reckless abandon, interrupting whatever was happening before me. My heart pounded in my chest as I opened my mouth to speak, but when they both turned to look at me, I couldn’t say a word.

Their facial expressions were that of shock. But Charlie looked at me with a hint of surprise and wonderment that made every nerve ending in my body sizzle with fear and tension.

Everyone fell silent, words escaping us at the strange situation we found ourselves in until Charlie finally stood a bit taller, speaking loudly into the open air.

“Well… If it isn’t little {Y/N}.. Not so little anymore, are we?”

Wait...

“You know each other?” Vic questioned, anger and adrenaline thick in her vocal chords, her face turning to stone as though I’d committed treason in the highest degree.

I recognized him, but how did he know me? I wanted to ask what was going on, to explain myself to Vic - or what I could figure out of myself - and ask why I was back here again, or what I had done here in the first place. I wanted to scream at my splintered memories that only let me remember where I was and that I’d been here before, but not much of what happened or for how long. They were all a hazy blur of lights and games, children and sweets.

Everyday was Christmas Day.

Every night was Christmas Eve.

But I couldn’t— I physically couldn’t make a sound.

My hand clutched my neck as I realized my voice was completely missing from my throat like some Brothers' Grimm tale in a Disney-esque wonderland.

Charlie made a noise, as though delighting in the fact that I couldn’t speak.

“I see your voice has brought you here once again,” he continued, his velvet voice dripping with honey tones. “Rightfully so.. As you find yourself, technically orphaned, don’t you, {Y/N}?”

My focus was on Charlie Manx, and his focus was on nothing but me as my line of sight drifted towards the deep night sky, peppered with stars and a moon that seemed to welcome me warmly. My gaze met his again, and for a moment, it was as though no one else and nothing else existed but the two of us. His chocolate eyes pierced through me with an intensity that made me feel as though he could pull my soul from my body and do what he wanted with what remained. The spectral sensation forced me to avert my eyes towards the sparkling lights that hung from every object one could perceive instead.

Children began to poke their heads out from behind snow covered trees and bushes then, holding large things like scissors and knives in their hands with menacing, but apprehensive expressions that rested on their features. It looked all too familiar to me.

“Do you remember me? All of your brothers and sisters here at Christmasland?” he asked, a gloved hand reaching out to gesture towards the hiding children.

But all that rang through my mind was:

Christmasland.

A flash of large candy cane and iron gates topped with a sign that read “Christmasland” stood out in my mind, but I shook my head a bit, an attempt at shaking the thought and bringing myself back to his brief line of questioning. To nod would have been a lie, so I gave it my best shrug, lifting my shoulders and teetering my faintly trembling hand from side to side.

“Pity” was all he said with a solemn expression, his deep register soothing and unnerving all at once.

He then turned to face Vic, who was now missing from her place on the other end of the odd triangle positioning we’d all been a part of.

His countenance turned to a scowl, clearly vexed by the fact that she’d disappeared, and then frustrated by his own careless mistake of letting it happen. I watched as his hands balled into tightly knit fists, frightening me on the inside as I tried to keep myself together. I couldn’t remember much, but from what I saw, there was a darkness about the entire situation. Between Charlie Manx and Christmasland, to the children with weapons and the ominous atmosphere that seemed to linger in the air, I wasn’t sure what would become of me if I made a sudden movement to run.

Charlie immediately ordered the children to begin a game through gritted teeth, one that I couldn’t recall, but felt as though I should. They all scattered at the shouted command, leaving us both truly alone in the wintery plaza. All that could be heard were the sounds of faint sinister giggles and crunchy footsteps as they drifted further into the distance until I began to hear my heart beat in my own ears thanks to adrenaline laced with dread.

It seemed as though he pushed away his anger for my sake, causing me to wonder why I was suddenly so important. His entire demeanor changed as soon as his smoldering eyes set on mine again, and he approached me slowly, every footfall cautious, as though he felt like if he came too close too quickly, I’d disappear.

Staying in place before him, the closer he drew to me, the more I felt as though I just might.

“Never mind her,” he assured me as he caught me glancing around for Vic in a slight panic.

What were they going to do to her?

He seemed to relax, as if this was going to make me feel any better. His features softened, like when one recalled fond memories before he lifted a leather clad finger into the air for just a second.

“You were such a fantastic addition to the family, {Y/N} Manx.”

The name caught me off guard. He must’ve been able to tell.

“Oh..” he drawled. “Now, you should remember that. You signed it in my book yourself.”

And then he smiled.

Oh god— did he smile.

There was nothing like it. When he smiled, it was as though the whole world around me lit up with the same delight. The act was infectious, and I felt myself smiling right back at him in a vague stupor. That was, until I wiped it off my face the moment I caught my lips curving, which proved to be more complicated than I would’ve liked.

What was wrong with me?

I had to remember that Vic was here too somehow, clearly in the middle of a scuffle with this man. No matter what kind of spell it seemed like he could put anyone under with his undeniable charm, there had to be a reason for Vic’s visit. Moreover, he’d sent children who carried objects that could be used as weapons after her.

Being disarmed so easily wasn’t like me at all, especially in such a strange place with such a strange person that I really barely knew. I had to get out. There was more at work than I could’ve even begun to wrap my head around.

Everything was so new to me— there were no answers, only more things to question, including how either Vic or myself got to Christmasland. But I couldn’t conceal the fact that I was worried for her and if only a little, myself. I was unsure if he would take the same approach with me should I fight him or try to run, and I felt far too weak from what I was sure could only be the past several minutes that felt like a whirlwind. Up to this point, I’d barely had reason to fear him myself anyway, and all I wanted to do was find out why I remembered the man, but nothing about him or how we were connected.

I tried to speak again but couldn’t. His expression turned quizzical before the damned smile eased its way back onto his lips. Albeit briefly, I had to look away if I didn’t want to be caught up in it again.

“I didn’t realize you hadn’t used your gift since we last found you here..” he voiced in realization. “It comes at a cost, my dear. Once you use your voice, you lose it for a while. But that’s nothing a hot cup of peppermint tea with lobs of sugar can’t fix, can it?”

His smile this time was small, but still enough to disarm me all over again.

Peppermint tea -overly sweetened- was my favorite. My brow furrowed as I tried to pull the memories from my brain. How long had I been here before? He’d sure made it sound like a while between dubbing me an addition to whatever “family” this was with his last name and knowing the way I liked my tea.

There were still a multitude of questions bouncing around in my mind. But without a voice, I had no other option than to go along with what he was saying. It wasn’t only that I couldn’t remember how to leave, but I was also deeply intrigued by everything I saw— from Christmasland to Father Christmas himself. It surely couldn’t hurt to spend a little time, and while I did, maybe I’d get my voice back enough to finally figure out what was going on. If my voice brought me here, surely it’d be able to take me out. I just had to discover how.

And besides, maybe he was onto something with the tea. It had been a while since I’d indulged in a simple pleasure like that for myself. The feeling of being out of touch with reality drifted through my body and in my thoughts again. It was like I was slipping into a kind of contentment I’d never felt before. Not wanting to give into that, I fought the feeling off. I didn’t deserve it, I thought.

Slightly defeated by not being able to counter his offer, I nodded meekly, stepping closer to him. He hastily stepped backwards, keeping the same distance as his intense stare held mine for - to anyone else - what might’ve been a little too long. Deep down, I wondered if I should’ve figured out how to get away to find Vic instead.

“Come,” was all he said then, turning around and leading me to a house just behind him, the outside decorated just as to the nines as the rest of the area and the small cottages that resided within it.

A warm yellow light flowed out across the snow as he opened the door, enticing me even more to follow before he disappeared inside. The door swung closed behind him, and as I approached it myself, my inner dialogue was still fixated on just how I knew Christmasland, and why Victoria was here being what seemed like taunted by Charlie. It wasn’t until my fingertips grazed the icy doorknob that I was being pulled backwards, a hand -I assumed instinctively- being cupped over my mouth to keep my already silenced voice even quieter. Trying to fight back proved to be useless as I tried to dig in my heels into the snow to no avail. I was being dragged backwards against my will as I tried to wriggle free, quickly giving up the fight once I heard my captor speak.

“Don’t say a word, I’m gonna get you out of here,” Vic whispered in my ear gruffly.  

[londonfog-chan]

Glitter Freeze: Kakyoin x Reader Part 2

Spot the Disney references.

“What in the goddamn hell...”

“I... we didn’t think it would affect either of you. But now that we know you’ve manifested, we aren’t so sure.”

You’re not sure what to do. The one who had been holding you when you woke up (the very handsome red head with a bandage on his forehead), was dragged off by your brother to another room. Your mother won’t let you go, she holds you tightly and keeps kissing you and you’re simply too tired to fend her off. And then there’s the issue of Frosty sitting next to you, the woman made of ice with a veil that doesn’t seem to want to let your mother shower you in warm kisses. It turns out the cold was just a cold. It happened before the big disaster, some dude woke up and took the body of one of your descendants, but the thing with the lady made of ice was exacerbated by your sickness. When she woke up, her first instinct was to take care of you. The stranger, Avdol, told you that she hadn’t been working against you completely. She was just a little misguided. Overly emotional, she let her better judgement fall by the wayside and just did what she thought was best at the time. She didn’t understand that she was hurting you instead of helping you. But before his own fiery power could melt the ice, it was Jotaro’s classmate that stepped in, taking you up in his arms while some of his power calmed down yours any way it could. Apparently that involved his own weird dude thing getting frisky with yours.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

You look at your grandpa. The lady made of ice honest to god hisses at your mother, pulling you out of her arms and into a frigid embrace. She presses a cool hand to your forehead, your fever is still high enough that you can almost hear the sizzle of her cold hands melting.

“Excuse the shit out of my goddamn French, but where the fuck do I even begin to explain what’s wrong?” You growled. “I can think of twenty fucking things off the top of my head. Pick one.”

The porcupine quills are out. You can feel yourself bristle with your usual ice cold attitude. The ice lady (Avdol calls her a Stand and you think that’s the dumbest fucking thing you’ve ever heard) softly hums, clicking her tongue as if she’s rebuking you. Your entire body is shaking, seized by the cold and the fear once again. You found out there actually was frost growing on your skin during the time you were getting cold, frozen fractals were currently blooming on your fingertips whenever the ice woman got particularly upset or felt you were in danger. That would explain why you felt like you had hypothermia. You basically did.

“But for functionality’s sake, let’s start with this bullshit. This is what’s been wrong. I get told I could have fucking died if your friend hadn’t thought it was odd there was ICE creeping out from under my door.” You show them the frost creeping up over your palms, and immediately Avdol approaches.

“Hold out your hands and breathe.” He commands.

It takes a lot for you to hold in the smart ass remark that wants to come out. The ice stand at your side hisses again and seems like she is going to do something to take care of the stranger, but the cold compels you to hold out your shaking hands to Avdol. You’re so tired of this. You want the cold to give way to warmth. This isn’t funny anymore and you want out of this shit.

“I want it to stop.” You hiss.

“I know.” He insists. “Breathe.”

His hands are warm under your palms, he guides your breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Hushing you and calming you down like you’re a toddler about to explode with a tantrum.

“Look.” He speaks and you obey.

Sure enough, you’ll be damned. Your stand calms down, the frost retracting from your hands and returning to being small glittery specks on the tips of your fingers. Miniscule snowflakes, beautiful and each one is completely different from the other in small ways. His breathing technique has worked. Quelling the rage that threatens to boil over in your blood.

“Thank you…” you breathe. “That’s… that’s better. Much better.”

“Honey…”

This time the ice lady lets your mother take your hands in hers, and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen her gently but firmly nudge someone aside as she pushes past Avdol to get to you. He yields obediently, both his eyes and the eyes of your grandfather tamed on your mother as she breathes her hot breath onto your cold fingers. Jotaro returns, his narrowed gaze on you both. You meet his gaze halfway, daring him without words. You feel like the ice is going to come back but it doesn’t. It seems like there’s someone else watching from his side. Something hidden that you’ve still got that childlike fear of.

It pisses you off that he has the capacity to intimidate you like this, and you hear your Stand hiss under her breath.

“I know you’re probably scared…” your mother’s gentle voice startled you out of your staring contest. “But you’ve got to trust your grandpa. He’s going to help you and your brother, and it’s going to be all better soon. Mommy won’t let anything happen to you either, ok?”

All you can do is let her hold you tightly against her chest. No one says much of anything. The long winded explanation that your grandfather threw at you isn’t even worth the brain power it takes to absorb it all. Vaguely you nod when your mother asks if you’re hungry. Running on autopilot, because the only thing you can think of regarding this whole thing is the fact that Avdol told you there was a good chance you could have died. Your grandfather Joseph doesn’t stay. He’s got to have a talk with Avdol, no doubt it’s a worry about what should happen to your mother. He mentions something about a fighting spirit before they exit the room, and you’re left with your brother.

“… jeez…” he sighs. Annoyed.

Bristling, you think that mother fucker has no right to be annoyed.

“You’re always causing trouble.” He mutters.

“What the fuck did you say?”

He looks at you sharply, but you don’t care. Suddenly you’re bristling again. Porcupine quills out. Ready to scream. That familiar tension in your shoulders builds up, and before you know it you’re shouting at the top of your lungs.

“I was causing trouble?! I was scared you big dumb fucking bitch!”

Despite your anger, you’ve begun openly weeping. Tears fall and your voice cracks as you continue to scream at your brother. Every little miniscule thing. The way he avoided you when you first got sick, and then how he neglected you when there was this horrible thing, like a cancer, building up inside you all this time and you couldn’t even get him to look at you. But that wasn’t anything new. Ever since he grew a few pubes and his balls dropped he treated you like a disease. It never used to be that way. He used to care, he used to walk you to school every day and cut up your katsudon pieces in your bowl because he loved you. He used to fill the void in your heart because your father was never home. Jotaro used to play catch with you, and dress your dollies up and sing to you and make you feel as though life was beautiful and worth living. And these last few days, you felt trapped in your kingdom of isolation.

He stands there unmoving as you let it out. You can’t believe it. He has little to no reaction to your outburst. For once in his miserable life he doesn’t turn the screaming back on you. Are you fucking winning this argument??

“You left me all by myself! I didn’t even have anyone come in to check on me when I was freezing to death all alone in my room! Do you have any idea how scared I was?! I thought I’d been forgotten, especially when I had this fucking dumb thing inside me stifling my screams… Your dumb fucking ass was in the slammer and I was probably going to die and a literal stranger had to be the one to bring me back! Now I think of it, I’m not scared, I’m fucking pissed off! F... FUCK! FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING FUCK!”

The use of the word fuck is like a mantra when you’re arguing with Jotaro. From insults ranging to fucking cunt, fucking pig whore, you’ve called him so many filthy things involving the word fuck that it’s lost all meaning to you. But still, it’s so interesting that you suddenly feel like you’re shouting at two people all by yourself. Your stand has faded away, evidently too scared to face your brother, she lets you scream to your heart’s content because you can feel she’s scared to face the ramifications…

But you could give a shit less.

“You always took care of me... and I kept calling for you and you didn’t come and get me! You fucking promised-”

“ENOUGH!”

Your grandfather is at the door. Before you can continue he bullies your brother silently out of the room and is at your side, holding your trembling shoulders and trying to talk you down from turning the house into Disney on Ice…

You wake up four hours later, exhausted, wrapped in the arms of your grandfather as he snores without a care in the world.

At least you’re not alone, and it’s a double whammy to turn over trying to get up to pee only to accidentally roll onto your mother. Well, you’re certainly not alone anymore. You’re unsure how to feel now, the inner bitch of your soul screams too little too late, but now you realize that they must have heard everything and felt guilty for neglecting you.

Well… you think, It’s sweet but, they’re not the ones I want to feel guilty for this.

It takes a lot of effort. Your Stand comes out in a flurry of cold and you have to really get it under control to prevent your loved ones from waking up, but she does help lift you over their bodies and out the door silently. Her hands are frigid. Icicles pressing against your soft skin as she guides you down the dark hallway and into the bathroom where you sit thinking on the heated toilet for a lot longer than would be necessary. But now that you’re at least having a few moments of clear thought, you can’t help but wonder how the fuck you have anything to do with all this.

You heard your grandpa before he left the room the first time, Her fighting spirit is strong but… What the fuck is he talking about fighting spirit? What the fuck does this have to do with the snowy woman standing in front of you while you take a leak, like this is a group effort and she’s there for moral support? It leaves you with more questions than answers. Maybe if you had fighting spirit you wouldn’t have passed out and missed the entire thing, and then maybe your Stand wouldn’t be hovering over you while you flushed and washed your hands, pushing soap into your palms because you only rinsed.

Better yet, whatever happened to that hunk whose Stand wanted to go to pound town on yours?

“I’m sorry… Did I wake you?”

The voice is so gentle, so sincere. It’s nothing like the sounds you’re used to in the house so it’s startling to hear. It’s coming from the room right across from the bathroom, and when you slide open the door, you see the red head all nice and cozy under his own duvet on a futon.

“Hey.” You murmur. “You didn’t wake me up. Are you ok?”

His head is wrapped in bandages and you kneel down to his level. You’re still in pajamas, an old shirt and overly large pajama pants that once belonged to Jotaro. He’s outgrown so many clothes that you have all these pajamas to steal from him whenever you run out.

“I’m perfectly fine.” He insists. “I… I didn’t mean to impose.”

“Impose on what? You look like you’re just as fucked up as me.” You point to your forehead. “Is that because of your Stand too?”

“No… That comes courtesy of the man who almost made your stand kill you.”

“Dude…” you groan. “Where does this cunt live? Because I’m about to fuck his shit up into next week.”

He is dead silent while you laugh, and you realize that it must be because of your mouth. You blanch when you see his blank face illuminated by moonlight peeking from a crack in his screen door. An uncomfortable silence passes between the two of you. What else can you say? Nothing you have on your tongue seems fit for your ears, and it’s honestly like talking to Grandma Suzi when she ignores you until you clean up your language.

“All your ice is melted.” You huff, looking at the neglected ice pack by his side.

“Yes…”

“Do you… do you want me to fix it?”

I mean… you yourself are an icemaker yeah? Technically?

The hunk takes a while, but eventually nods his consent. Your Stand places her hands on the ice pack. You can hear the crackly squeeze as the water solidifies, and when you place it on his head he sighs in relief.

“Thank you…”

“No… I should be thanking you.”

He looks at you. Even though he’s just as ice cold as you are, those beautiful eyes that greeted you when you woke up hold you tightly in their gaze. He’s intently listening. All of his focus is trained on you. For the first time you feel almost embarrassed that he’s just staring you down.

“You saved me right? I… I remember you kissing me.”

“P-please understand… I didn’t set out to take advantage of you like that.”

He explains that it wasn’t completely him. For some reason, his Stand acted out on its own, clutching yours and lavishing her with affection.

“It was very strange…” he murmured. “For once it didn’t want to destroy. It seemed to want to draw out your Stand, the way she hovered over you, her frosty breath coating you in layers of ice… It was too much.”

“I… Well shit dude… I guess I’d rather thaw out by macking than die alone in my room like a human popsicle.”

Finally, he laughs, and your heart skips a beat because god dammit. He’s just so handsome. Total beef, more defined muscle than your grandfather and brother combined, and his gaze is just so captivating. He has those big puppy dog eyes, and he looks like he could bench press ten of you.

“I don’t hold it against you.” You tell him softly. “I… I was really scared. I could feel like I was slipping away into the cold. I wanted to give up. No one came for me. I couldn’t even cry for my mother… And then you came.”

You smile gratefully at him, swiping at a strand of hair that’s in your face.

“Thank you... um…”

“Noriaki. Kakyoin Noriaki.”

“Thank you, Noriaki-kun, for coming to my rescue.”

Unfortunately you will never know what it does for your features when you smile, and you miss the red dusting across Kakyoin’s cheeks as you exit the room.

[hamlets-ghost-zaddy]

st. jude (the patron of lost causes)

Part 8/8

Donald Malarkey x Reader

A letter arrives in Paris a day after you do.

Constance, having impersonated you to the British mail officer, waves it as a white flag of truce, charging through your newly assigned convalescence hospital ward. “Mail from Austria!” she sings, snapping your eyes up from the young officer you’ve been ordered to keep special watch over, changing out the cold compresses for hot ones over his hollowed eye-sockets. You blink once, twice, pretending the boy’s incomplete face hadn’t morphed into Don’s the longer you looked. Though, you think, I’m grateful for a reason to look away.

Thrust under your nose, you have nowhere else to look but at an envelope scrawled with blue-ink letters, messy and nearly-illegible and absolutely perfect. You savor your name on mailing address, Don’s on the return, lettering too large initially before turning thin and cramped. In your imagination, Don’s warm laughter tickles your ears, his smile sheepish, and he offers weakly: ‘What do you want? I can’t help it if ‘convalescence hospital’ is too long to fit on the envelope!’

Accepting the letter with careful fingers, touching as little of it as possible—perhaps to preserve the sanctity of mail, you so rarely received any, or to preserve the sanctity of his handwriting, the first sample of it you’ve seen—you slide a nail along its lip and draw out the letter inside. Your fingers are shaking; you’re not sure when that started.

“I wish Eugene would write to me,” Constance says to the air above your head.

“Did you ask him to?” you ask, distracted as you recall how to read, your eyes caught and stuck on the first words (“my love”). Sure you’ve misinterpreted the words, sure your mind only conjures what it desperately wants (needs) to read, you begin again. But no. It reads the same.

“Well, no,” Constance prattles, “But the implication was definitely there when I said goodbye to him.”

You’re not listening—how could you possibly with the world held at range, muffled by a shining ring that pierces your ears, bright and yellow but maddeningly loud?—to her, not comprehending the flustered patter of her worries. You’re not doing much of anything: not breathing, not blinking, not moving, all in fear that the letter might disappear, might be spirited away back to him, as if he didn’t mean it and could take it back from five hundred miles away.

“What—?” you finally croak, when you reach the last line of the letter, when Constance has long-since petered into silence, frowning at you in concern. Swallowing past a dry throat, you try again: “What does this mean?”

“What does what mean?” Constance asks, practically.

You read to her: “‘I’m coming to you in Paris, so you’re not allowed to go anywhere. I’m coming home.’”

Paris in July is a riot of color, of life, and the wet heat blanketing the city—making sheets stick at night, your uniform during the day—makes you wonder if Bastogne or Haguenau truly existed. If they happened. The cold, a freeze you thought so deeply seeped into your bones that your blood would never melt, is distant in the joyous jubilation of Paris in summertime, Paris in victory.

But death fills your nostrils, ghosts haunt your sight, and when the long days on duty at the convalescence hospital inch to an end, your muscles are limp, your body is weary, and your soul tired. You appreciate Constance inviting you out to the dance halls, the jazz lounges, and the USO shows with her various beaus, but there’s an unspoken understanding that it’s all a courtesy. You wouldn’t accept, couldn’t accept, not when the war was over but the greatest horror had been saved for the end in that little, damned German town.

You’d come alive, you know as you mark off the calendar hung up in the nurse’s sleeping quarters, when time brought you July 23rd and a train from Austria brought you Don Malarkey. You ignore that line in his letter—that one you and Constance can’t make sense of—because you can’t stand the thought of him coming here, to Paris, only to be ripped again from your arms, bound for the States and Oregon. Bound for a life without you, ocean liner ticket in his back pocket and a suitcase of opportunities in hand. Opportunities that didn’t fit you. So, you ignore it. (Or, you try to, but the minutes before sleep, or as you bathe before a shift, or take a meal break, are too quiet and your brain insists on filling it with thoughts of what if—what if—what if—)

And, on the twenty-seventh, when the morning shift ends, and you hurry for the metro and Gare de l’Est without bothering to change from your nurses’ uniform (as if every slight offering could tempt the clock faster), you wait for energy to surge through your veins, to blossom across you skin and in your chest. But, you only rush faster as if the wind will fill your hollowness.

Those sunken gaps where eyes should be, those skeletal men in the camps where laughter should live, those ghosts where living boys used to stand—

You plunge into the train station’s crowd.

The crush of humanity tosses you in its mad current, and you allow it to drag you along, only breaking for air to squint at the chalkboards announcing arrival times, delays, and departures; only turning on your heel to pace the ruler-measured straight train platforms when you reach one end, hurrying to retrace your sentry path. The great clock in the station’s lobby, luminescent and gold, ticks on. The chalkboards announce a train from Strasbourg—his train—but where—?

Arms are tight around your ribs, a chest is hard against your back, and a laugh is low and warm against your hair.

You kiss him before you see him—the surest way to check he’s real, he’s there, because the war has taught you not to believe your eyes. If you did, you’d suffocate from the weight of the horrors, the depravity—but ah, he’s kissing you, his nose bumping yours in his eagerness to tilt his jaw to match your jaw, to kiss you so your lips will slide and lock into place. As if he kisses you well enough, for long enough, nothing could break him from you, or you from him. You taste the sweetness of coffee with sugar on his mouth, smell the sweetness of fresh showers and fresh laundry, touch the sweetness of his downy soft curls, his sun-taut skin, his double-blessings of double-icons.

When you break away, he kisses your fingers clasped in his, devoting time to kiss each knuckle, the basin of each palm. Then, those earth-brown eyes meet yours and thank God they’re still there, there are no more ghosts than when you last saw them, that light shining past phantoms still flickers in those brown irises, strong and stubborn. “Thank God you’re here, that I’m returned to you,” he whispers, his voice caressing ‘you’ with a tenderness that paints pink onto your cheeks.

You squeeze his hands, words flown from your mind. He doesn’t seem to notice, too busy marveling at your hands in his, your face holding a smile for him. Occasionally, he presses more kisses, soft and vague, to the pads of your fingers, your nose and cheeks, as if to assure himself you still breathed from one second to the next. Finally you muster, “How is it possible that the three weeks since I got your letter felt longer than the whole war?”

His grin, opening like a flower for you, dominates his face. He kisses you again, assuring against your lips: “It’ll be worth it, I promise.” Yet, he pulls away suddenly, your lips chasing his a few inches, askance for more kisses. “But can you lead us to a church? Maybe Notre Dame?”

You restrain yourself until the bridge connecting Paris to its religious heart, the Île de la Cité, and Notre Dame’s graceful spires rise above you like the fragile arms of a ballerina, reaching heavenwards in holy praise. “Don,” you begin shaky, nibbling your lip. “Don, I—” Your voice falters, fails; if you ask the question, you’d have to hear the answer. Do you want that? Do you want to know what he meant when he said he ‘was coming home?’ If he boarded a ship for Eugene, Oregon tomorrow morning; could you stand knowing?

“Yes?” he prompts.

“I—” you try again, sucking in a deep breath, and knowing you have to stand knowing. “I was wondering if you’re going home, to Eugene?”

“Well, uh, of course,” Don replies, stretching out the word, blinking at you. His eyes sweep around—to the neat, pale Parisian townhouses capped with black shingles and dotted with spilling flower boxes, to the men on bicycles and the women with little dogs—and he says, “As much as here is nice, I’m sure, I’m going home.”

“Oh,” is all you muster.

He notices how you deflate, how happiness evaporates from your eyes, and he frowns. “Why? What do you mean ‘oh’?”

“It’s nothing, nothing at all,” you insist, feeling foolish. He meant what he wrote, and meant precisely as he worded it: he’s coming to Paris and then he’s bound for home. You should have expected as much; he has every reason to crave the familiarities of home, to seize them the first instance he can and—

He pulls you to a stop, cradling your face with both hands, his thumbs rubbing away the stray tears that slipped the gate and managed to leak from your eyes. “‘Nothing’ she says while she’s crying,” he teases gently, his mouth quirking, his eyes betraying his worry. They’re not soil now; they’re something more solid, ancient, and buried deeper in the earth. Something unmovable, and maybe that thought prompts you to admit:

“It’s just what you wrote in your letter, that you’re coming home. You’re going home to Oregon soon, and just stopped off here, and of course I’m happy for you, but—”

His laughter interrupts you, confuses you, and before your mouth can pop open in protest, he’s kissing you anew. Gentle at first, but then he’s nibbling your lip, biting it, exploring how your body—flooding with heat and your throat squeaking involuntarily—responds to each new sensation. He delights in your reactions, delights in knowing they’re his doing, and when he breaks from you (you suspect your mouth matches his: red and swollen), he says, “Eugene is the place I call home, but my home…” he shakes his head as if in correction, “My life is you. You battled away the ghosts, you fought back the gray, and revived this.”

He places your hand on his chest. Under your palms, his heart beats, jackrabbit quick.

A pause. Then, he pulls one of his icon necklaces from under his uniform. Checking the image briefly, he pulls it off only to thread over your head. “I know it’s not a ring, but there is a church—” he gestures and you squint up at Notre Dame. You hadn’t noticed you are stopped in the great square in front of her, hadn’t known she witnessed your foolishness “—we exchanged symbolic things, if you know what I mean, and . . .”

And you had fallen in love with him, your spirit and happiness married to him, since a supply tent in Haganau.

You nod, breathing, “Yes, I do,” because you know what he means; you’d swear to it. You kiss him now, and when your forehead rests on his shoulder, you find your fingers turning the new icon around and around. Holding it up to the bright July light, you squint, asking, “Who is it?”

“Anthony of Padua.”

You kiss the icon, kiss Don, and feel as though you could kiss the day itself or kiss Paris in all of its riotous color and wonderment: what you knew you lost hadn’t been found. What you didn’t know to need, had been given generously, abundantly.

Life finds a way.

[angrylizardjacket]

giselle/roger nsfw headcanons no-one asked for

except for my dear, filthy Queen Giselle Defense Squad @prettyboyroger & @ginghampearlsnsweettea. Disclaimer; I’m 20 and don’t know shit about being pregnant/having kids/being an aging rockstar, okay?

70s (beginning of their relationship) 

i don't know how to phrase this politely

angry??

like they'd been both passive aggressive and openly hostile to one another for a few years

so when they first hook up after their terrible setup date it's sort of a 'i can't believe i'm doing this, but /yes/ i want to, please for the love of god stop talking you're ruining it, roger'

she makes sure he gets her off the first time they sleep together 

they don't actually sleep together for a few weeks after the first date, like they go out, and it's weird at first because of course it is, and they usually take separate cars there and then back to their own homes, and they feel like they're in a weird gray area because they don't know if it'll last 

one night, it's like eleven and roger's come straight from rehearsals, and he hadn't told her he'd be showing up, but he's on her doorstep and she's smiling at him like 'what are you doing here' and he just kisses her

"what are you doing here?"

"i- is that a joke? i mean, i can leave if you really want me to" 

"don't be daft, come inside."

sex is fun, and they're adults and rock musicians it's not like they don't know what they're doing 

and i mean that both metaphorically and physically 

giselle is Flexible and roger can keep a rhythm like nobody's business and both of them have excellent stamina i'll tell you that for free 

they still argue a lot, but a lot of the time they argue just to have angry or makeup sex 

they're both switches, but giselle leans more towards being more dominant 

roger smacked her ass when they were hanging out with the rest of the band and she almost decked him on the spot, instead when they get back to his place, she makes him apologise and she teases him so much as punishment that he's Begging for her to touch him before she does 

they sleep together often, but it always feels quite casual, despite the fact that the relationship is serious; it's like the john mulaney quote when he's asked the last time he made love "made love? in college, but i had sex yesterday"

late late 70s/early 80s 

they're comfortable with their relationship and things become more intimate and like... softer? if that makes sense 

like giselle wakes up late one sunday morning and roger's sitting at the kitchen table and he's cooked them both breakfast, and like, it's not the first time but something about it just makes her heart melt and they have sex in the kitchen

neither of them are really the type to say 'i love you' during sex, but she's sitting at the edge of the kitchen counter and he's kneeling with his head between her legs, she's got her hand in his hair and she just whimpers 'god i love you' and he takes a moment to pause, press a kiss to her inner thigh and look up at her with a smile 'i love you too' 

so now it's sort of a coin flip between sweet and more playful, or a combination of the two 

they're also both insufferable teases 

giselle gets invited to sing at a red carpet event and she brings roger along, and she stops to do an interview and he leans in and whispers something to her completely straight faced like he's a secret service agent informing the president about the presence of a bomb or something, and giselle just freezes and the expression on her face is that she's just been given some very surprising news when actually roger's just told her exactly what the sight of her in that dress makes him want to do, and that he knows how close the nearest bathroom is if she's interested 

it takes her a full ten seconds to reboot her brain, and she finishes the interview without acknowledging anything had happened - as soon as the interview's over and they've walked far enough away, she does smile a little bit 

"i don't trust you not to ruin my makeup, so not until after the show" 

"okay, that's wise i suppose, but still..." and he trails off and gives her a /very obvious/ look over, and it takes a surprising amount of giselle's self control not to let him have his way (what can she say he looks damn good in that suit) 

after roger cheats on her, and they get back together, there's like three months where he's barely allowed to Touch her 

when she finally sleeps with him again, it's slow, deliberate, and he treats her like a queen 

it's another apology on top of all the others he'd given 

and she'd stopped being outwardly angry about it in the past few weeks but it all comes back 

"i cannot fucking Believe you think you could ever find someone better than me" 

it's easily some of the best sex roger's ever had and it was out of Spite

sex goes back to being angry/makeup sex for a while before giselle concedes, missing how soft and sweet he could be at times 

okay so 'All The Queen's Men' was written about the American leg of their tour, where they'd already gone through the European leg, and the rest of queen had found out the hard way during that first leg that the adrenaline of performing really gets both roger and giselle going

there's a fifteen minute intermission between their performances, and they alternate who opens for who 

after a particularly incredible performance by giselle, she's absolutely glowing with energy and adrenaline and roger can tell, and he takes her back to her dressing room for a quickie when he's meant to be warming up 

he ends up being about three minutes late and has to run on stage, and freddie calls him out on it, asking him where he's been 

roger sits himself behind the drums and leans in very close to the microphone, smirking 'just helping a friend practice her falsetto' with absolutely zero subtlety 

freddie looks like he regrets asking and the line becomes Iconic amongst queen fans, especially girls who were thirsty over roger 

the public still don't really know about giselle and roger being married, especially since they want to keep their relationship quiet after the whole cheating thing happened, people know they dated but it just sort of.... never really hit the public eye if that makes sense 

a lot of girls like to claim it was them that he was talking about, and even though people speculate about it being giselle, even after the article comes out, some fans still think he might have been talking about someone else, that he may have cheated again, which giselle thinks is one of the dumbest things in the world when she reads it, she doesn't confirm anything until Much Much Later 

she posts a #flashbackfriday clip of the line on instagram, since the concert was recorded, with the caption 'so that's what the kids were calling it back then.... '

lilith and rosemary are used to knowing too much about their parents because there's countless books, articles, and documentaries about them, but they still play mortified in the comments

okay jumping back to the 80s and the tour 

after a show you cannot leave them alone for five minutes 

okay not after every show, but after a Lot 

whoever opened the show for the night will be all over whoever closes the show, and they disappear together almost immediately 

they'll eventually turn up for drinks at the after party; giselle looks mostly innocent, her clothes aren't too dishevelled and she ties her hair back so it doesn't look too messy. roger always has the smuggest smile and if he's got a hickey or scratch marks, he's doing all he can to show them off

giselle doesn't get on her knees for just anyone, but damn if she didn't drop when roger came off the stage at intermission and she saw him in eyeliner and leather pants for the first time in person (a la We Will Rock You at madison square garden in the movie)

tbh she did not enjoy sucking dick when she was younger, but the way it makes roger moans is like music and she's grown to enjoy it, but only with him 

giselle is very good at keeping quiet and not getting caught, and roger likes to try and test this 

the rest of the band have learned to knock on the door of every smallish space they want to enter, closet, cupboard, bathroom, etc, because if giselle and roger are in there, there's a 70% chance the door is locked, but only a 40% chance you'll be able to hear them in there 

one time (early in the tour) brian comes to tell them about the afterparty, he listens at the door and it seems safe, but he opens it, and roger's got giselle pressed against the dressing room mirror, and he dress is pulled up around her waist and she's biting her hand with her head throwing back and she's been struggling so hard to keep quiet, the moment she sees brian she lets herself be loud, shouting 'Fuck Off' at the top of her lungs and she reaches blindly to throw a can of hairspray at him before he closes the door, and so the seal's been broken so she gasps and moans over roger's fucking laughter at the whole situation, but they're both too close for it to have ruined the mood 

early 80s (trying for baby)

it starts because honestly, John and Veronica's kids are So Cute and things are finally settling down between Roger and Giselle, and they're both sort of like..... we could have kids, like that's a thing we can definitely do

also they're well aware their kids are gonna be outrageously pretty 

giselle doesn't do things by halves and so she goes to see doctors and she and roger sit down and actually talk about having a plan, and what it would mean for their lives to have kids 

the doctor is like..... the best conditions to conceive are stress free ones (being rockstars is kind of counterproductive) 

so essentially they plan to Officially start trying for a baby in about a year, once their lives have calmed down a little and they can dedicate time to this, ahem, endeavour 

that being said, before this, giselle was quite vigilant with birth control, but once they've planned everything she goes off of it so that there's time for any hormone changes will be corrected by the time they're actually trying for a baby 

and at first they're still using condoms because The Plan, but after a while it just sort of becomes a 'well if it happens it happens, but it's not like we're tracking anything just yet so it's not like there's that high of a chance' 

they fuck Everywhere 

both of them try and justify it as 'maybe a different place/position is better for conception' which they both know is bullshit but it leads to some pretty interesting sex

also public sex

not that that was something either of them was Super into before, like they'd done it a lot on tour, and when they were first together, but now 

"what if our kid was conceived at the grammys" (1983; giselle had been nominated for best music video for Heaven Sent) (it would be their third year in a row fucking in the bathroom at the grammys, which giselle is actually very proud of) 

like she knows it's a joke but giselle's also Super Into It 

they try to wait until after the award show, but giselle wins, and the moment she gets back to their seats he pulls her into the bathroom and eats her out, telling her how proud he is 

they fuck at the grammys, and then procede to get high and fuck at the afterparty too 

it's honestly one of the best nights of giselle's life and she remembers about 65% of it 

also, roger meant the conception thing as a joke but...... whoops. 

they're almost a year ahead of schedule 

giselle panics at first because it's Too Soon, but roger's there 'we've literally already got a plan? just change the dates, we'll be fine' 

but also they're both Super Excited!! 

for the first few months they're still all over each other 

he's So Enamoured with giselle when she's pregnant, he very genuinely thinks she's the most beautiful woman in the world 

"what if our kid is prettier than us" is an actual thing he's said; "we're both very attractive people, Zelle, what if that kid gets only the good parts of us and has no, like, humanizing flaw regarding looks?" 

"excuse me, roger, what do you think is my humanising flaw regarding my looks is?" 

"that's my point! we don't have one either; this kid might end up being the most attractive person alive!" 

when the ultrasound reveals that they're having twins giselle cries, she's so excited but also so nervous to carry twins

roger spins her around in a hug as soon as she's standing (he went with her to the appointment and was just frozen when they got the news, staring at the picture of the ultrasound absolutely shocked, but in a good way) and she has to be like 'careful, gotta take it easy' but they're both ecstatic!! 

i won't go in depth because it personally squicks me out, but there's definitely pregnant sex

roger's so proud of himself and of giselle 

they officially tell the rest of the band when they have them over for dinner, and giselle hasn't really planned exactly how she wants to tell them, but before dinner even starts she hears roger in the living room talking to freddie, and he announces 'also hey look what we made' and she peers in and sees him pull out the picture of the ultrasound, and just the way he's so casual about it just eases her anxiety so much, and she can't help but grin because Roger's smiling so brightly as Freddie hugs him so tightly, and they call the others over 

roger sees giselle by the door and he waves her over, wraps his arm around her as they're both showered with congratulations 

"i knew you were worried about it, and if i recall we were supposed to keep your stress levels down" he murmurs it to her so she's the only one who can hear it, and they're smiling at each other, and the other three don't know what's being said but they've literally never seen the two of them so in love (which goes back to the bickering in public, sweet in private thing) and it's like 'ah yes, these two really do belong together'

late 80s/early 90s (after rosemary's born) 

first of all, literally any of other band members are happy to babysit but rosemary ends up preferring to stay with John and lilith doesn't have a favourite but Jim's the only one who can tell her it's bedtime who she'll listen to without being told twice 

Roger and Giselle fool around a lot when the kids are still babies/toddlers since they sleep in another room, but once the kids are able to walk around and open doors and they're no longer in cribs it becomes a lot harder 

they're interrupted A Lot even when they think they have time 

rosemary's asleep in her crib upstairs and lilith's on a playdate, and giselle finds herself pressed to the counter with roger's hands in her shorts as they're preparing dinner, and he tugs her pants down right as there's a knock at the door 

"fuck, is it 5:30 already? that was quick" "don't worry, love, we can finish this tonight" roger smirks, kissing her quickly. 

giselle pulls up her pants and opens the door where lilith's friend's mother is dropping her off, and the other woman gives her a Look and giselle's not sure if she looks flustered or if it's because she's Giselle, but either way the woman doesn't say anything, she just smiles and thanks giselle for letting lilith come to the park 

when the girls get older and can look after themselves on weekend mornings, there's a lot of sleepy, quiet morning sex for roger and giselle

it's a rare moment of peace that they get to themselves and they're going to make the most of it 

having kids has changed their lives dramatically, and so a lot of the time they take advantage of their alone time in the shower 

idk i don't have huge amount of headcanons for this era i'm sorry 

late 90s/present 

they're disgustingly affectionate once the girls move out 

not that they weren't sweet and loving before, but now they don't have to worry about embarrassing or scarring their daughters 

even though they're getting older they still can't keep their hands to themselves, maybe now moreso than before 

especially after both the girls have just moved out 

there's a moment when they're both still in pyjamas, or well, giselle's in pyjama shorts and her shirt's been tossed somewhere to the side and roger wasn't wearing a shirt to begin with, and she's sitting on the counter, he's standing between her legs and he presses a kiss to her collar. she's got her hands on his hips, her thumbs dipping below the waistband of his pants, and he's got one of his hands is on the small of her back, holding her close, and the other on her breast, his thumb gently brushing over nipple, and she just starts laughing 

"it feels like we just moved in all over again"

it becomes almost a game, but it's so much more tender and sweet this time around, they're having fun and reminiscing in their own way 

so yeah, Super affectionate and handsy now that they can appreciate their time to themselves, if that makes sense

Lets Talk About Brian and Roger Going On Tour Again; 

giselle performs with them at one of their tour stops, and after she's finished her songs, she thanks the crowd and goes to leave, but turns back and runs up the drumrisers to give roger a kiss, and the whole crowd awwws 

"no, please don't encourage them" brian's there pinching the bridge of his nose and having flashbacks the 80s tour. roger pulls giselle in for a proper kiss and brian looks like his soul has left his body; "also just a heads up to the crew, i'd avoid roger's dressing room after the show" 

giselle pulls away from roger who's now laughing his fucking ass off, and she grabs the microphone and it squeals but she doesn't care, she gets super close to the microphone and just says "that was one time, brian"  

"one time that you saw, at least" everyone hears roger correct her, and the crowd is going absolutely mad, brian's just laughing (it was a long time ago after all) and giselle finally leaves the stage

he's right tho, performing still gets both of them going So Much

[sunnybugz]

only fools

chapter: iii

word count: 2555

authors note: i finished this a week ago and it’s been on ao3 but apparently i just,,, didn’t post it here?? lmao what

iii

4:50 PM, Play rehearsal

The next few weeks flew by. Soon enough they had started blocking for their play. Not much had happened with the whole Gina situation, sadly, but she did seem a tad more flirtatious if you asked Rosa (If you asked anyone else, it seemed as if they were going to marry within a week). The play was going wonderfully, people were doing great with their lines, and the characterisation was on point. Jake, Amy, and Charles continuously told Rosa and Gina how bad they felt for having to play homophobic, but the two of them would just roll their eyes. It was just a play, and they were all actors. The three of them had been more supportive than anyone could have ever asked for when Rosa came out.

Their Friday evening practice was going wonderfully. Thankfully, nobody was flubbing anything, and everyone was having fun. The main cast worked great together, even with Sophia in the mix. However, Rosa noticed Amy would hold Jake’s arm just a bit tighter when she was with them. Nobody could blame her, of course.

Their ten minute break was coming to an end. They had rehearsal until six PM, Monday through Thursday. Their only free day was Friday, which was usually just spent doing homework at this point because nobody had time to do any of it on rehearsal days. It was fine though, because that meant Rosa got to see Gina for even longer four days of the week, plus weekends. It was a dream come true, except not exactly, because most of Rosa’s dreams ended with someone dying. So it was even better than a dream.

Charles was in the middle of talking about some new restaurant he wanted the gang to go to when Director Holt spoke up. “Okay, break is over. I want us to work on a brand new scene today,”. You could feel the excitement in the room when that was announced. Adding new scenes was always fun, even if it was a bit messy in the beginning. Once everyone had come back to the stage, Director Holt began to speak again. “We’re going to work on Act 1, Scene 8, which is the final scene of Act One.”. A chorus of ‘ooh’’s erupted from the cast. Everyone knew this was the scene where Lola and June kiss. Where Rosa and Gina would kiss. It took place in a park at night, when nobody could see them. The scene was about how June is worried she wasn’t worth the trouble Lola was facing. It’s a singing scene, and Lola sings about how she could get lost in the galaxies behind June’s eyes, and how she would trade every star in the sky just to see her smile. It ends with a kiss. Rosa feels every emotion at once. Fear that she’ll do it wrong, excitement to finally do the scene, happiness to be finally kissing Gina, sadness that it won’t even be real, and mostly she just feels her heart pounding out of her chest.

“You ready Diaz? Let’s do this thang!” Gina says. A rush of relief floods over Rosa when she sees that Gina is excited. The two take their place on the stage, and they’re counted in to start. Rosa takes a deep breath and starts.

She sings the words from her heart, and wishes to whatever racially ambiguous God is out there that Gina could feel how Rosa feels about her. Rosa genuinely feels like these words are truth, because honestly, Rosa would kill a thousand men just for the privilege of hearing Gina speak. She would do anything for her.

Then the song ends, and they have to do it. Rosa freezes up for just a second, and thanks God for making it so that June, or Gina, was the one to lean in for the kiss.

Gina’s lips are on Rosa’s, and Rosa is shocked she doesn’t die of a heart attack right then and there. Gina has the softest lips, and they envelope Rosa’s in a warm kiss that makes her feel things she really shouldn’t be feeling at a play rehearsal. Rosa’s so caught up in her thoughts that she just sits there, frozen, while Gina kisses her. She doesn’t even realize it until Gina pulls away and smiles and Rosa is 100% sure that she could drop dead right then and there from that damn smile. It’s the most beautiful, totally Gina smile, and Rosa has fallen hard for it. Rosa smiles back. The cast cheers, and Rosa is pretty sure she thinks even Holt might have the slightest hint of a smile on his face.

The rest of practice, Rosa is completely messed up. People just give her raised eyebrows and knowing glances, because each one of them know exactly what, or really who is pre-occupying Rosa’s mind.

When rehearsal ends, Rosa heads to her locker to grab her backpack. Her locker is the only one out of her entire friend groups to be close to the auditorium, everyone else has lockers on the other side of the school. As Rosa is leaving the school, she hears Gina’s voice.

“Hey Rosie, think you can help me fix something up in the dressing room?” asks Gina. Of course, Rosa heads over. She heads into the dressing room and Gina is in there.

“What do you need help with?” Rosa asks, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. She knows she’s most likely bright pink by now, but if she isn’t, she will be soon.

“I just wanna ask you a question. Why didn’t you kiss me back? Was it weird? I can ask them to take it out if it is, you know I can convince them.” Gina says. Rosa takes a deep breath. It’s now or never, isn’t it?

“No, it’s not weird. Well it is, but not because of you. I mean it is because of you, but-”

“What are you saying?” Gina interrupts.

“I’m saying I like you Gina! And I know you would never like me back but I can’t stop being into you, I haven’t since I met you in eighth grade! But I know you would never like a girl like me, and I just have to deal with that. But that’s why I didn’t kiss you back. Because I was freaking out.” Rosa says, overcome with something braver than she is, despite how much she wants to be that brave girl. Gina looks at her in stunned silence for a moment that is about three seconds too long for Rosa to cope with.

And then Gina Linetti’s lips are locked with Rosa’s, for real this time. Rosa gasps in surprise at first, but then melts into the kiss. Gina kisses Rosa passionately, left hand on the side of her face, and right hand on her waist, just the way it is when they’re dancing.

It’s like fireworks going off in Rosa’s brain right now. She now notices that Gina’s lips taste slightly of cotton candy, and tha Gina keeps pulling Rosa in closer and closer. She and Rosa are in a perfect rhythm of kissing, and it’s like this moment was made just for the two of them. It’s like the rest of the world falls away and all there is is Gina’s lips and Gina’s hand on her waist and the smell of Gina’s shampoo and Gina, Gina, Gina. If she had to pick one moment to relive over again, it would be this one.

Rosa puts her arms around Gina’s neck as Gina guides her towards the wall. Rosa can’t believe it, she’s really making out with the most beautiful girl in the entire state of New York, probably the most beautiful girl in the country, in a high school dressing room. After another minute and a half, Gina pulls away. Rosa looks directly into Gina’s beautiful, blue eyes and breaks out the biggest smile. “Wow, that was…”, she starts, but can’t find a word to describe how mind bogglingly wonderful that just was.

“Yeah, you’re an even better kisser than I imagined. Which is saying a lot, the fact that you outdid even my brain.” Gina says, not taking her hands off of Rosa (not that she’s complaining). Rosa raises her eyebrows and shakes her head a little. Mostly because she’s unable to form words at the moment, but partly because it makes Gina laugh.

“Thanks, I guess? We really should get going, not that I don’t love this, but people are probably wondering what happened.” Rosa says, finally finding the ability to form a sentence.

Gina smiles. “Let’s go.”

11:21 PM, Rosa Diaz’s Bedroom

It’s been six hours, and Rosa hasn’t thought about one thing other than Gina’s lips on hers. The first time, it was awkward and strange, but their make out session in the dressing room had been absolute magic. The only thing is, she doesn’t know where her friendship with Gina stands now. She’s been scared to ask all night, as she doesn’t want things to be weird between the two. Rosa’s never been the romantic type, except for everything is so much different with Gina. It’s like Gina is this ethereal being and Rosa couldn’t escape her even if she wanted. Finally, Rosa decides to just call Gina. She’s always up late, so it’s almost guaranteed she’ll answer.

The phone rings three times before Gina picks up. “Gina Linetti Spaghetti Confetti, who dis?” She says. Rosa rolls her eyes and smiles.

“Gina, you know it’s me,” Rosa says. She hears Gina laugh on the other end.

“Yeah, but I’m a rascal. I’ve been wanting to answer the phone like that for weeks, but nobody calls me since it’s not 2009 anymore. You do realize we have a thing called texting now, right?” Gina says sarcastically. Rosa lets out a chuckle at that.

“Gina, we have to talk. About what happened earlier,” Rosa says. She really just wants things to be easy, but she knows from previous experience it’s so much worse to hold off on talking about the more difficult subjects than it is to just get them over with.

“What about it?” Gina asks, suddenly sounding serious.

Rosa takes a deep breath. “What are we? Are you into me, or was it just a kiss? I’ve been freaking out for the past few hours over it,” she confesses. Rosa feels terrified in this moment. Could she be reading into it? Is she being weird? Is Gina going to hate her?

She hears Gina take a deep breath on the other side of the line. “Rosie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, I know you’re not into me that way.”

Rosa feels confused now. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that I shouldn’t have kissed you. I really, really like you, but that was so uncool of me. I know you aren’t interested in dating me.”

Woah there, back up. Since when has Rosa shown any signs of not being into Gina? All she ever thinks about is how much she’s into Gina. “Gina, I have no clue what you’re talking about. I’m like, super into you. I have been forever. I never thought you would be interested in me though.”

“Rosa, I’ve had a crush on you since the eighth grade! I thought I was being pretty obvious with my flirting, but I guess not. But why wouldn’t I like you? You’re gorgeous, for starters, plus you’re super talented and a total badass,” Gina says. “And the gorgeous thing. I know I already said it, but I feel like once isn’t enough.”

Rosa is blown away by this. How could Gina ever like Rosa? Gina was perfect, with her absolutely beautiful looks, and her amazing confidence, not to mention her humour. Rosa could go on and on about how perfect Gina was. “Gina, I started liking you the first day I met you. I don’t know how you never noticed.”

Gina laughs softly on the other end, and god Rosa could listen to that sound for the rest of her life and never feel like it was enough. “Well then. Where do we go from here?”

Rosa takes a deep breath. “Gina, will you be my girlfriend?”

Gina smiles. “I’d love to.”

10:03 AM, Rosa Diaz’s home

Rosa walks into the living room. Neither of her parents are home, so it’s just her and Juliet. Juliet is watching TV on the couch, wearing her pyjamas. Rosa sometimes doesn’t realize how much the thirteen year old looks like her. Tall, thin, with black, curly hair, an angular face, and a slightly edgy taste in fashion. Their older sister, Lillian, was the odd one out, as she was shorter than Juliet, curvy, with long, wavy hair. The only reason people could tell they're related was by surname.

When Rosa sits on the couch, her sister looks at her. “So, you and Gina?” Juliet asks. Rosa looks at her, completely shocked.

“How do you know about that?” Rosa asks. There was no way her little sister could have known about what went down with Gina.

“I could hear what was going on. This house has pretty thin walls, and our rooms are right beside each other. You really need to learn to talk quieter at night.” Juliet says, very matter-of-factly.

Rosa looks totally embarrassed. “Okay fine, me and Gina are dating. But what do you know about relationships anyways, you’re thirteen!”. Rosa is quite defensive when it comes to her personal life, despite the fact that she’s quite close with her sister.

“Uh, I’ve had three boyfriends Rosa. Keep up. And I’m really not surprised about you two ending up together, I could tell you were into each other when she came over for a sleepover with you last year. You two seriously never stopped staring at each other.” Juliet says. Rosa turns a deep shade of red.

“Jesus, did everyone know but me? Also, three boyfriends? Who? How did I not know about this?” Rosa exclaims. She’s starting to get very confused as to how oblivious she was to Gina liking her. She’s also confused on how her sister has dated almost the same amount of people she has.

“Troy Saxon for a month, Justin Moss for two and a half months, and Cameron Valdez for six weeks. And you didn’t notice because I’m smart and can cover my tracks.” Rosa was about to respond with something funny when she got a text from Gina.

Gina: hey babe, be ready in 45 minutes. i wanna take u somewhere xo

Rosa smiled big. She was going on a date with the Gina Linetti. The past 24 hours didn’t even seem real at this point. Why was the universe being so nice to her?

Rosa: i will be! can’t wait to see u xo

And with that, Rosa headed upstairs. She no longer just had a crush to impress, she now had a girlfriend.

And having Gina Linetti as her girlfriend was the best thing anyone could ever have, if you ask Rosa. Except nobody else would ever get a say on that in the future, because Gina was hers.

Thank you, universe, Rosa thought as she got ready.

[imgilmoregirl]

The Wonders of Winter

AO3 Link

Summary: Mr. Gold finds a girl in the snow outside of his shop and feels a sudden connection with her. But maybe it's just because she has the very same blue eyes the love of his life had.

Notes: Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon A Time or any of the characters and storylines in the show. This is just a fanwork made for fun.

YEAH, thanks to a dream I'm finally back. I'm so sorry I haven't been writing lately, but let's see if now it will work better.

It was a cold winterly morning when he first saw her. Mr. Gold didn’t use to pay any attention to the town’s residents unless they owed him something, however he knew every single soul who lived in there, except one, he found out. Maybe it was the fact he had never seen her around that made him stop and stare or maybe he did it because he caught a brief glance of her beautiful blue eyes and remembered about someone else.

For a moment, actually, he thought he was seeing her, but then he blinked and realised that the one he was looking at, was just a bubbly teenager. Her hair was lighter than the woman who came to his mind, almost blonde but somehow a shade of brown that reminded him of his own hair colour at young age. She was a pretty little thing, even wearing those old, raggedy clothes that didn’t seem to be warm enough for the weather.

He got caught up in the moment and just stayed there in the middle of the main street looking at the girl picking red roses from the front of the grocery store – the worst flowers in town, everybody knew, you could only get the fresh and beautiful ones if you bought them from Moe French – and smiled for herself, opening the door and disappearing inside.

…

There was snow covering the whole town the day they first spoke to each other. Gold was closing the shop, feeling tired and hungry, wishing he would get home soon, when he heard someone sneezing. He looked around in the darkness of the night just to see the girl curled in a corner near him, a blanket covering her shoulders as she trembled helplessly.

His mouth fell open and his heart ached at the scene. He had never felt pity for anyone before and he certainly had never cared for desperate strangers, but in that moment all he wanted was to do anything to just help that girl.

Gold held his cane tighter, taking slow, careful steps on the snow towards the girl, who pulled the hood of her coat up, probably trying to keep the cold away and most certainly failing. He took a long, deep breath, feeling the cool air burn his nose and trying to imagine if such a skinny child could survive a night out in snow like this. The whole town could believe him to be a heartless man, but when it came to children, Gold had a secret soft spot.

He kneeled beside the girl and pulled down her hood with a gentle hand, revealing her scared blue eyes. She was startled and freezing, but all he could notice for a moment was how much the colour of her irises met the colour of someone else’s, even in the darkness. If he wasn’t aware that if he kept staring at her for another five seconds, she would probably run away, he would have lost himself to his musings, however he needed to focus on the girl, so that’s what he did.

“What are you doing all alone here, child?” Mr. Gold inquired. “Your parents must be concerned and you will get a cold if you stay here for any longer.”

The girl tightened her lips and looked down at her hands. They were pale and the tips of her fingers were getting purple.

“I don’t have any family,” she answered with a shrug. “I live in the orphanage, but there is a guy in there who has been bothering me, so I ran away.”

“And you were thinking it was a good idea to sleep here?” The pawnbroker questioned and she shrunk. “You were going to be dead by the morning.”

“I know, but nobody would notice.”

There it was, the ache in his heart again, making a lump appear in his throat. Gold didn’t know why, but her words made him want to cry. He knew how it felt to be lonely, how it felt to feel like you didn’t matter and he surely didn’t want such a young soul to feel like this.

“Tell me, child,” he slowly began. “What is your name?”

“Tilly,” the girl said. “My name is Tilly Weaver.”

“Nice to meet you, Tilly. I’m Mr. Gold.”

“I know.”

In her lips, a tiny little smile had appeared. It was sweet and innocent and it brought the remembrance of a young woman to his mind, one whose smile looked really alike Tilly’s and one who would have helped this girl without thinking twice. One for who his heart still raced, even at mere memories.

He slid his hand inside his overcoat’s pocket and picked up the keys he had just pulled down there. Gold took one of Tilly’s cold hand’s in his own and placed the keys on her palm, closing her fingers carefully around it.

“There is a cot in the back of my shop and a warm blanket in the second cabinet, right beside an old typewriter,” the pawnbroker told her. “You can use them.”

Tilly blinked in surprise.

“Will you let me sleep in your shop?”

“Yes.”

“For free?”

He thought about it for a second. Everybody in this town knew he never did favours to anyone, everything was about a deal and if one single person knew he had been showing himself a softie he might ruin his beloved reputation.

“I was in need of help with cleaning,” Gold said. “You can come and dust the place for me after school in exchange for a shelter.”

Without waiting for an answer, he pulled himself up to his feet with some effort and the help of his came, grimacing in pain as he walked towards his car, leaving the orphan girl with a copy of his shop keys. Gold was about to get himself into the front seat when he saw the lights glowing inside the shop and heard a muffled thank you coming from the backdoor.

…

It had been a week ever since he learned she loved orange marmalade sandwiches and started bringing them for her everyday as a treat. She would smile and eat like it was her very last meal, then she would clean, singing as cheerfully as his last employee and he would give her a few coins for her work, telling her she should buy a chocolate or some other candies before she went to school.

He was surprised to find out, during a very windy Wednesday that she had been saving money, because he found her counting the coins he gave her and pulling them inside a peanut butter jar. It intrigued him and, as much as Gold used to avoid being nosey, he walked inside the backroom with a question shinning in his eyes, however, he didn’t need to ask anything, as Tilly spoke for herself.

“I finally have enough,” she said, happily, lifting the jar up for him to see. “I will finally buy a whole bouquet of red roses from Game of Thorns.”

A half smile took Gold’s lips.

“You really like flowers.”

“Oh, they are not for me,” Tilly answered. “I always visit a woman in the hospital who has been in coma for years. She has no one like me and I thought she would like to have roses on her beside to make her world a little bit lighter.”

“Well, that’s very nice of you.”

She opened her old backpack and deposited the jar inside, jumping up from the cot and pressing a kiss to his cheek before rushing out of the shop, making her way to the school and then probably to the hospital. Gold however, stood there, awestruck, knowing it was the first time in many, many years that he felt like he cared for someone and someone cared for him.

…

The snow had finally melted when he met a woman named Emma and the morning light shinned bright through large windows when he first visited the hospital. It was Tilly’s solemn routine to visit this Jane Doe, but he had never questioned her about it and he had never even been curious until he woke up and realised he was not only Mr. Gold, the pawnbroker, but Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One.

He walks through the corridors like he is summer storm, fast and dangerous, so nobody bothers him. The memories are coming faster and faster to his mind, just like they did the whole night. All of his deals, the loss of his beloved son, his one and only goal to find him and them… Her.

She came into his life unexpectedly. Yes, he had wanted her from first sight, because she was beautiful, brave and certainly interesting but he had never meant to fall in love with her, but he did and he denied it and he made many, many mistakes. He had broken her, he knew it very well, he had thrown her out of his home right after taking everything she had offered him with love and honesty only, because he was a coward.

Deep down, Rumplestiltskin knew the truth and he didn’t even need a real confirmation, however there was a part of his brain that refused to accept it until it had a proof, which was why he pushed open the glass door of the room in which Tilly was, sat beside the woman he loved.

His breath was caught on his throat and when the girl looked up at him, he felt the tears coming. Those were Belle’s eyes, now he was sure. He had no idea of what had happened or what brought them to the actual situation, but he knew that Tilly wasn’t just an ordinary girl who had ended up on his door for no reason. She has his, the daughter conceived in that one and only night.

“Mr. Gold,” the girl – his child – started. “Are you ok?”

He didn’t answer. All he did was to hug her as tight as he could as he looked down at Belle and made her the solemn promise of bringing their family together and waking her.

[pictureofsoph1sticatedgrace]

Frozen the Musical - My Act One Thoughts

Hi friends! So... here we go! I saw Frozen twice while I was in Denver - once on August 18th and once on August 19th. A few things you should probably know before we delve into all my thoughts: 1. I’ve been a musical theatre nerd for most of my life. I went to a performing arts high school for musical theatre, and majored in theatre arts administration in college. 2. I am also a Disney nerd - always have been and always will be. I did the DCP in Walt Disney World and absolutely adored it. 3. Frozen has been my absolute favorite movie in the entire world since I first saw it back in 2013. I’ve made very good friends with Anna at all kinds of local parties and gatherings, run Frozen camps, and more. So... we can imagine how COMPLETELY ELATED I was when they announced they were creating Frozen on Broadway. Which leads me to point 4... Caissie Levy. I saw Caissie in Ghost back in 2012 and was ASTOUNDED by the sheer talent I was witnessing. Caissie has without a doubt become my absolute favorite performer, but more than that, she’s become an incredible mentor. So when I found out she was going to be LEADING this show, I MIGHT have lost my shit just a little bit (read: a lot).

With all that said... I hope that makes it clear that I know my way around good theatre, but I also have some implicit bias. I will try my best to stay as objective as I possibly can (which will probably be not at all tbh) while also fangirling my heart out.

Now. Let’s talk Frozen the Musical! Prepare for a novel.

- Preshow. They have some really cool sound effects and a projection of the Northern Lights that move around. It’s really pretty, and helps to put you in that mystical setting.

- The show opens with the newly introduced Hidden Folk. Let’s talk about them for a hot second. I get why they moved away from the trolls - having seen the stage show at the Hyperion out in Disneyland, the trolls would have been too campy and weird for what they’re trying to do with this show. I love the concept - the traditional Norwegian Huldufolk are the perfect fill in. The execution, IMO, needs some work. Crystal necklaces that light up just like in the movie? Super cool. Glowing eyes in the pitch black? REALLY cool. Long, swingy tails that make them look like non-blue Na’vi from Avatar? Not so much.

- Hearing Vuelie in person with that incredible ensemble was enough on its own to basically send me into a coma.

- THE YOUNGINS. Oh my LORD. They are so ridiculously good - especially the Young Annas, Audrey and Mattea. Their comedic timing is so good... you really can’t help but laugh every time they speak (”like run naked in the breeze!” I died).

- “Anna and Elsa” is adorable and just introduces us to the sisters. They also worked in a chunk of the cut song from the movie “We Know Better”, which was perfect and made me extraordinarily happy.

- “A Little Bit of You” is so stinking cute. And then Elsa hits Anna and your heart hurts. So thanks for that, Lopez crew (I’ll be saying that a lot tbh).

- The scene where the Queen summons the hidden folk is one that I would not be surprised to be tweaked. She started chanting and people started giggling (because tbh it is a little strange - it sounds incredibly dramatic), which is definitely not what you want happening there.

- Elsa asks Pabbie to remove her magic altogether because she’s afraid of what she’ll do, which just hurts my heart. He asks her to close her eyes and tell him what she sees, and it’s basically a premonition of the coronation - she sees a monster. Tears.

- Elsa is also the one who basically says “keep Anna away from me while I figure this magic thing out,” which is also devastating because that adds another layer of her guilt to what we knew from the movie.

- Another change from the movie - the girls are still their young selves when their parents die at sea. OUCH. I think it’s more effective, honestly.

- Caissie got entrance applause and that was the first time I cried. #proudmama

- Let’s take a moment to talk about PATTI FREAKING MURIN. I’m not going to lie to you - I was really worried about what they were doing with her in all the promotional stuff we saw, but I had no reason to be. Patti is the perfect Anna. She is adorkable, silly, fun loving, and tender and vulnerable when she needs to be. Anna is undoubtedly my favorite princess... Patti lives up to it.

- There are a few lyric tweaks in “For The First Time In Forever” to go with the action on stage - i.e. there are not 8,000 salad plates, so it wouldn’t make sense to sing about them.

- The scepter and orb glow at Elsa’s touch and it’s REALLY cool.

- The moment when they opened the gates and the whole ensemble spilled in... the second time I cried. It was so epic and just a beautiful, beautiful moment. All those voices harmonizing... it was overwhelming.

- Sven got entrance applause. I’m still trying to figure out how he’s maneuvered?! Literally the most lifelike reindeer puppet you could imagine.

- Obviously we have no horses on stage, so Anna and Hans bump into each other and fall into Kristoff’s ice cart, which is a nice touch.

- Anna makes an heir and spare joke - another reference to a cut song from the movie (my favorite one, so I was thrilled).

- John Riddle as Hans... he’s SPECTACULAR. He’s not a ginger, but I guess I’ll forgive him because he is incredibly good looking and SO charming. And that voice! He makes you fall in love with him. Which makes you hate him even more later on.

- Queen Anointed is GORGEOUS in every sense. There’s a little section of choreography as the church bells ring that was very, very cool - the ensemble moves in and out of line with each chime. Hard to explain, but visually gorgeous.

- As the ensemble is singing, Elsa is basically silhouetted upstage while the priest puts on her cape and they walk the orb and scepter in. The lighting here just made me melt.

- Dangerous to Dream. There’s already been some pretty good discussion about this (see @frozenartscapes and @not-rotting for that fun), but oh MAN. After the first verse, Anna runs in and kneels downstage with her hands over her heart and Elsa sings directly at her. UGH. After she’s crowned, she observes the festivities and sings the rest of the song as Anna is shown enjoying it - dancing, being lifted up on a chair, etc. All while Elsa just looks on longingly. My heart.

- Robert Creighton as the Duke is the wonderful blend of funny, creepy (”Let me tame you with my tango” and “you’ll be looking for a king, no doubt” ugh), and dastardly that the role demands.

- The camaraderie between the sisters as Anna disses the Duke is perfection.

- Love is an Open Door. WHERE DO I START. Take the movie and ramp it up by about 800%. Sexual tension is not off limits here. Anna runs her hands over Hans’s chest, Hans grabs Anna’s butt, there’s some panting, there’s a very cute dance break where he has her leg up by her face in a split and she’s like “ow ow ow ow ow” and then she somehow ends up on the ground beneath him... and then as the song ends, he buries his face in her chest and then they proceed to make out for at LEAST 30 seconds as all the coronation-goers filter in. It is hilarious, and on the second night recording, you can literally hear me go “I thought this was a family show!” lmao.

- Elsa freezing the ballroom - the spikes shoot out of the wall and I was legitimately concerned someone was going to be impaled on stage. It’s so organic and realistic!

- After Elsa runs out of the ballroom, you see the various townspeople as they run to safety... then Elsa stumbles forward, catches herself on the proscenium of the stage, and then the proscenium freezes in what was my first “WTF IS HAPPENING” moment of the show. The projections there... omg. Otherworldly.

- Ah, and now I get to talk about Jelani as Kristoff. GUYS. He’s SO GOOD. His voice is divine. He is SO PERFECTLY SASSY, but like Patti, when he’s a softie, he just melts your heart. He and Patti play so well off of each other - their witty banter is everything you’d hope and more. Kristanna shippers, rest assured, your hearts will flutter.

- I mentioned in a previous post that right before “What Do You Know About Love”, Kristoff literally rips off Anna’s dress before she changes into Kristoff’s clothes and that was the moment I died. My shipper heart.

- Speaking of... “What Do You Know About Love”. WE FINALLY HAVE A KRISTANNA DUET, Y’ALL. And it was worth the wait. It’s 5 minutes of stellar witty banter. God bless. The music is also CATCHY AF.

- The bridge! It’s very, very cool. One of my favorite scenic elements in the show.

- “You’ve got some guts.” “You’ve got some... brains.” I’ll leave it at that.

- When Olaf makes his grand entrance, you hear his voice all around the theater. Which caused absolutely everyone to collectively lose their shit while turning around in their seats. Hilarity.

- The Olaf puppet, for anyone who hasn’t seen yet, is done very similarly to Timon from The Lion King. Anytime Greg moves his feet, Olaf moves. Same with the hands.

- Greg as Olaf. There were moments I had to remind myself that Greg did NOT, in fact, voice Olaf in the movie. He’s that spot-on, but of course with his own flair. 12/10 casting.

- “In Summer”. It’s just as ridiculous as you might imagine, though not as campy as it is in DCA with the random backup dancers in flippers and scuba gear. There’s just random birds flying in on a stick instead.

- “If there’s one thing Arendelle can handle, it’s snow.” - Anna, cut immediately to “I CAN’T HANDLE ALL OF THIS SNOW!” - The Duke.

- “Hans of the Southern Isles (Reprise)” - aka the “I’m Hans and I’m gonna manipulate the entire town into believing I’m the greatest thing since sliced bread but HEY I’m humble no big deal” song.

- The moment you’ve all been waiting for (along with literally everyone in the theatre who audibly squealed at the first notes)... “Let It Go”. Aka the moment I officially LOST. MY. SHIT. I waited to talk about Caissie until this moment because this is the first time we get to see her in all her belty, sparkly glory. She. Is. Perfection. She looks the part, she acts the part, she sings the SHIT out of it.

- I will say - the song is back in its intended key, which means it’s a half step lower than we hear in the movie (cut to a clip of Idina being like “but what if I sing it a half step up just this once?” and then hating her life as every child on the planet began to sing the song). But that makes it no less belty and beautiful. Rather than just letting that last note kind of fade like you hear on the soundtrack, Caissie takes it up to the high heavens and the sky opens up and you melt into a puddle on the floor. Wait... that was me. Definitely me.

- Scenically, I wanted a little bit more. The projections are cool, and the massive wall of Swarovski crystals that dropped from the ceiling was sparkly enough to blind me. But other than that, the stage felt a bit empty. The rumor is that they have another plan for Broadway - which makes sense since they’re in a temporary home and it wouldn’t make sense to build any really massive set pieces until they’re in a place where they can do that. They know they could pretty much put Caissie in a trash bag, throw her on stage to sing this song, and the crowd would still lose their minds. Save the magic for the big guns. At least, I hope that’s what’s going to happen!

- The dress change. There was a clip floating around from the show Friday night, and the timing of the flash was off, so it’s unfortunate that’s the one that got passed around (even though it’s still freaking incredible!) because you can kind of see the magic. Saturday night, you couldn’t see a thing and LORDY BE. It is truly magical. And the dress! It’s STUNNING. I sobbed both nights. Like... ugly crying, heavy sobbing.

And with that... I went into the lobby going “I’M GONNA PASS OUT MOM, I SWEAR. I’M GONNA PASS OUT MY FACE IS TINGLY I’M GONNA PASS OUT” because I was so overwhelmed and it was intermission.

Thanks for tuning in for Act 1... Act 2 to come later!